Fett: A Star Wars Story
by Raw Sewage Writings
Summary: Crimson Dawn has been attacked, such an insult will not go unpunished. A hunt is underway for the killer of Dryden Vos. Among the many hired guns competing for the job is a young bounty hunter going by the name Jaster. Little does he know that this hunt will reawaken the identity he strove to leave behind that will eventually be feared as the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy.
1. Chapter 1 - Bule's Bounty

01

BULE'S BOUNTY

With a low rumble the Aqualish, Bule Konossa brought his furry hand to the tusks dominating his bulbous face to suppress the burp from his last mug of ale. The Pa'lowick on his arm didn't seem to mind. Her stubby frame cleaved to him with her long spindly arm wrapped around his. Her form was a round body hidden beneath the heavy fur coat which nearly buried her neckless head. The long snout of her mouth brought large red lips to Bule's hairy cheek. His grin was concealed by his tusks. Already within the first hour of meeting the Pa'lowick, he'd forgotten her name but he could tell he was in for a treat once they reached his ship. The two stumbled drunkenly down the expanse of the dark cavernous corridor.

The club was built inside the mountain, as close to the mining operations as possible for higher traffic from the tired, thirsty, horny laborers. Vino's club offered it all, supplied by the few dealers and pirates that frequented, knowing that the Nautolan running the place would reward well to those that would go out of their way of the common hyperspace trade lanes to reach the planet of Elom. Bule was one of them.

The Pa'lowick reached her free arm up to his furry chin and stroked it. "Bule Boo, I hope your speeder has a closed cab, I can hear the wind from in here." Bule's bulbous black eyes looked down on the Pa'lowick as he spoke in his own tongue a series of muffled barks, groans and growls. From his hip, a digital voice spoke from a translating device as his gaze lingered.

"Of course. We'll be back at my ship in no time, Pretty lips." Bule reached the shield door and pressed a button on the control panel. As the door slowly opened sideways, the grey glow of the snow clouds poured into the dim cavern. Harsh wind whipped at them. The Pa'lowick let out a squeak and Bule tugged his fur-lined jacket closer around him as they stepped outside. The cliff was cleared away for speeder parking and access to the mine shafts inside the mountain. Bule made his way to the line of speeders, approaching his maroon, sharp nosed V-35 Courier. Bule reached to his belt for the security remote but paused.

"Bule Boo, what's wrong? Its freezing," the Pa'lowick said.

Angry barks and growls erupted from the Aqualish as he waved a fury hand. A moment later and the digital voice projected the translation. "Hey, Bucket-nut! That's my speeder you're sitting on."

Leaning against the speeder was a figure shrouded from his neck to his knees by a tan cape wrapped around his torso. From behind a red helmet, the figure looked up, a thin polarized black visor glared at the odd pair standing in the snow. A vented vocalizer projected a scrambled voice.

"Bule Konossa?"

Bule let off another verse of barks and growls followed by his translating unit. "Are you deaf? Get off my speeder." Bule shoved the Pa'lowick off of his arm to reach to the blaster pistol on his hip. The figure paid no mind to the threat.

"I'm here about the bounty for Hondo Ohnaka."

Bule frowned, his hand still poised on the grip of his holstered blaster as he tilted his head and barked again. "You want the contract?" the translator unit buzzed.

"Not your contract." The figure stood up and from behind his cape, his hand emerged, leveling a chrome Westar-34 blaster pistol. "Ohnaka's contract for you."

The Pa'lowick squealed as she hid behind Bule's large frame. The Aqualish's barks of protest were cut short by the abrupt ring of the blaster. As Bule clutched at the smoking blaster wound in his chest, the translating unit caught up. "Wait, don't be-." The Pa'lowick squealed some more as she looked down at the Aqualish with large eyes and shuddering lips.

The assassin sauntered forward to stand over Bule who was groaning. Bule stared down the barrel of the dingily kept chrome blaster. He struggled to breath out another bark of insults before the assassin pulled the trigger and fired a bolt in between the Aqualish's bulbous black eyes.

The Pa'lowick looked from the assassin to the trailing black smoke of the head wound and back to the assassin whom already had begun to walk away. "That's it? That's all you came here to do? Who do you think you are?" The assassin kept walking back to his speeder bike parked at the end of the line.

The Pa'lowick's words ricocheted within the walls of his mind; not her voice, he didn't care about her voice or her for that matter—she wasn't the job. He did have name. In his mind it surfaced to meet the challenge that ran rampant. For some short years, he went by the name 'Jaster.' It worked for him for now—and far better than his given name. That wasn't who he was. He'd grown out of it. Jaster holstered his Westar-34 on his thigh then mounted the bike and sped over the cliff and down the winding trail of the mountain.


	2. Chapter 2 - Power

02

POWER

Standing in wait, Qi'ra's fingers fidgeted with the golden ring on her left hand. She felt the imprint of the circular emblem under her fingertips—the same emblem that was branded on her opposite wrist and the back of her neck—the split circle of Crimson Dawn. Even after a week from arriving to the organization's base on Dathomir, she still wasn't quite used to the atmosphere. The dark hall of _his_ chamber was still unsettling to her, even without the acidic tinge of the humid air. It was a far cry from the suavity and luxury which her employer had surrounded himself and his associates with.

Dryden Vos had been a business man through and through, with all the poise and courtesy that would easily draw his associates close enough to get what he wanted or, if necessary, to drive a blade in their back. But _he_ was different. Standing beside _him_ Qi'ra had to tell herself this his was what she wanted. She stood where Dryden Vos once stood. His power was now her power and _His_ power, Lord Maul's power, would one day be her power.

An alert chimed from the four legged hologram projector as it obediently crawled in front of the throne. Maul without a word pressed a button on the armrest of his throne. From the top of the projection pad, a hazy blue image appeared of a man with broad shoulders, made all the more apparent by the black shoulder bells of his Mandalorian armor. Adorned on both shoulders, the Mandalorian wore the symbols of Crimson Dawn and on the other, a symbol of his heritage, the jagged red claw mark of Death Watch. Qi'ra recognized the armor well, the personal set of her former employer was still displayed proudly in her former boss' office onboard his star yacht, _First Light_.

With a chillingly calm voice, Maul spoke. "Hos Brenth, your report?"

"As you predicted, my lord, word has spread quick about Vos' murder and some of the syndicate was getting emboldened. But it's not a problem any longer."

"Then I was right to send you. To remind them of my power," Maul said.

"The Pykes however are demanding repercussions for the losses on Kessel and the death of Director Quay Tolsite," Hos continued. Qi'ra felt a chill surge through her veins, causing her to stand a little taller and stiffer. It was after all her hand that drove the Pyke leader's security pin through his throat as a part of the heist she played part in.

"Yes," Maul hissed. "With the syndicate put back in its place, now is the time to hunt down the traitor, Beckett. He and his accomplices will pay for their insolence." Qi'ra fought every urge to react. She couldn't risk the price of giving herself away. "Qi'ra," he said turning his blazing yellow and red eyes her direction. "What leads have you found towards finding these traitors?"

Qi'ra turned to the Zabrak, careful not to avoid his sinister eyes no matter how badly she wanted to. "None," she lied. "Dryden was killed with his own blade and the rest of the crew by blaster fire. Beckett's team wiped the security records all the way back to the day they arranged the Coaxium job. They were very thorough." This wasn't a lie.

"And what of the records on Kessel?" Maul inquired turning his attention back to Hos' hologram.

"As Qi'ra said, the team was thorough. The facility's entire security system was vandalized in the riot."

Maul bared his yellow teeth. "Unacceptable," he growled. The lines on his black and red tattooed face eased. "But here you both have an opportunity to prove yourselves. Whichever one of you hunts down Beckett and his team will have earned Dryden Vos' place as my second in command." Hos' glare darted venomously from Qi'ra to Maul, disdain quite visible on the Mandalorian's strong, dark face.

Qi'ra looked wide-eyed at the crime lord, another electrifying gust of air filled her lungs. "It would be a pleasure, my lord."

Maul smirked at her. "Yes, I'm sure. Failure, on the other hand will be punished."


	3. Chapter 3 - A New Job

03

A NEW JOB

Jaster's ship, a small second-hand G-400 starfighter descended through the humid orange haze of Florum's sky to the landing pad below. Dust blew clear from the wash of the fighter's large twin engines at the end of the craft's wings where the landing gear extended. As the engines wound down, the canopy of the cockpit swung open. Jaster leapt out of the seat, taking a moment to look around. The landing lot was a two rowed procession of crafts of various class and makes encircled by a large fence separating it from the rest of the trade post outside. A fuel depot was set in the center where maintenance droids meandered in wait for orders. A figure approached the pad with a blaster rifle slung over its shoulder and a pair of leashes in one hand, keeping two large, red, spiny scaled reptile like Akk dogs under control. Jaster stepped off of the body of his battered little fighter to the hard, dust blown surface of the landing pad as the leather faced Weequay stepped up to him with an outstretched hand.

"'Allo, landing cost is thirty-five with a rate of ten credits per hour."

Jaster sighed within his helmet. From behind his cape, he dug a hand into a pouch on his belt and withdrew his last handful of chips. He looked at his palm to find six left. He sorted what he needed then deposited the rest in his pouch before dropping a five, ten and twenty chip into the rough skinned hand of the Weequay.

"I need fuel," Jaster said.

With his hand still out, the Weequay's sharp crooked blackening teeth shone in a grin. "That'll be another fifteen."

Jaster glowered at him as he dove back into his pouch and withdrew one of the last three credit chips on his person, holding it for the Weequay to see. "All I have is a twenty."

"No change," he said as he snatched the chip from Jaster's hand. As he turned around to shout at the droids idling by the fuel depot, Jaster snarled at him, bringing his concealed hand to his Westar worn at his hip. The Akk dogs snarled back, as if they sensed what he was considering, swaying their tails and baring their razor sharp teeth. Jaster eased back, releasing his blaster still housed in its holster. "Enjoy, stay as long as you like," the Weequay sniggered as he led the Akk dogs down the lane between the rows of ships in the lot. Still grumbling, Jaster walked away to the gated exit.

The lot was located at the edge of the post which was a moderately populated market place with buildings that reached no taller than three stories. Jaster had once before been to Florrum nearly ten years ago. From what he had seen of it as a boy, much had happened to the place than before, though the place was still overrun by outlaws. As far as Jaster knew, that was the legacy of the sulfurous desert planet. Ten years ago, the world's population very well could have been one single outpost of the Ohnaka gang, a band of swoop pirates led by Hondo Ohnaka himself. This meeting was the first time in those ten years that he had seen the notorious pirate face to face. All that Jaster wanted was just to collect his pay, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

As he walked down the road of the post, he noticed a saloon to the left. With so few credits on hand, he debated within himself. "I could use a quick break," he said within his helmet. Veering towards the entrance.

His path was instantly crossed by three figures in dingy, white armor, blasted by the desert's orange sand. Jaster paused and watched them go by. They paid him no mind but he wondered if that would change had they seen his face. He was well aware that Imperial Stormtroopers these days were enlisted recruits and no longer cloned. But what were the chances that one of those three were veterans of the Clone Wars a decade prior? What were the chances that their faces were exact copies of his own? Jaster continued to the saloon; now he really needed a drink. The dim, hot atmosphere of the saloon was filled with oddly bright music from a lone Rodian on a red-ball jet organ. There was enough of a crowd for him to blend into and an empty space at the bar. A Sullustan bartender stepped up to him smacking his large lips in preparation to speak but Jaster cut in.

"What's strong?" Jaster asked, the vocalizer of his helmet still scrambling his voice.

The Sullustan reached under the bar to bring out a red tinged bottle. "Brought in by tail-head vendor. Make you chizk-face with one glass if you not careful." Jaster placed the a credit chip on the counter which the Sullustan swapped for a glass. Jaster sat at the stool and removed his helmet. His shoulder length curly black hair sat in place, flattened by the helmet. Jaster's tanned complexion was made pale by the lack of exposure. At merely twenty years old, his features were smooth. Very little facial hair shaded on his muzzle. Despite his youthfulness, his brown eyes were heavy with dark bagged circles under them. Placing the dark red painted helmet down on the bar, Jaster picked up the bottle of the liquor and poured a glass. An acidic green liquid filled the small glass with a slight crackle. He frowned at it, as he held it to his eye before sipping a controlled bit of it. The bite was pungent in his mouth sharper than anything he'd ever drank before. Smacking his mouth hard he set it down—not bad.

Near the back of the saloon, a commotion caught his ear as a stubby Snivvian burst out in anger over his spilled drink. The other figure, a tall lanky Trandoshan loomed over the Snivvian, its lizard like face looking down on him with glowing yellow eyes. As the Snivvian continued to complain, the Trandoshan moved with predatory speed, opening its jaw and biting down hand on the shoulder of the Snivvian. The pig like alien squealed and the entire rest of the saloon exclaimed in terror as the Trandoshan's teeth tore through flesh. In a bloody heap, the Snivvian fell at the Trandoshan's bare clawed feet, blood splattering the yellow legs of its flight suit. The Rodian organist stopped playing and the patrons watched uneasily as the Trandoshan chewed its mouthful of flesh, no one daring to speak a word.

Jaster looked around the saloon full of vagabonds and outlaws with a snicker. "What's the matter, never seen a Trandoshan eat before?"

The Trandoshan turned its head to look at Jaster at the bar with narrowed yellow eyes that widened with recognition.

"Well, well. Thisss isss a sssurprisssssse," he hissed with a scratchy reptilian voice.

Jaster knew that voice well, even if he hadn't heard it in years. It was too late, he'd been recognized and he couldn't escape it. "Bossk."

With a low chuckle, Bossk beaconed him over. "Come, sssit with me while I eat." With slight reluctance, Jaster grabbed his glass and helmet and moved across the saloon to the Trandoshan's booth. He set himself down across from Bossk whom sat down again, dragging the Snivvian's body onto the bench beside him. "It'sss been sssome time. Lassst I sssaw you, wasss that courier job on Ssssocorro. Ssstill waiting on my cut too."

"It was a botched job, Bossk. None of us got paid, so you got your cut."

Bossk, grasped another raw, bloody clawful of the Snivvian. "Isss that ssso, I disssa-." Bossk's eyes crossed as the barrel of the Westar hovered inches from his snout.

"Keep it up and the bartender will have two messes to clean up." Bossk looked from the blaster to the young gunslinger across from him. A smile spread on his reptilian face as he eased back with a laugh, flicking out his long, forked tongue. Jaster smirked as well as he lowered the blaster pistol to the table. "Sssso, Boba." Jaster's smirk disappeared at the sound of his given name. "Haven't heard much of you lately."

"I've been going by a different name. Prefer to stay under the radar for the time being."

"Ssso I heard. Jassster now isn't it? Makesss sssenssse to rebrand yourssself, what after a few botched jobsss and all." Bossk smirked to which Jaster eyed him coldly. "Sssstill, if you ssstay too far under, you missssss out on the big jobsss."

"Most of the high profile jobs are for the Empire. I would prefer to avoid that as much as possible," Jaster said, taking another sip of his liquor.

"Then you should look at the other ssside of the law, like Crimssson Dawn."

Jaster set down the empty glass and eyed the Trandoshan. "You have a contract from Crimson Dawn?"

Bossk shrugged. "They contacted me yesssterday to hunt down Tobiassss Beckett."

Jaster's eyes widened. "The guy that killed Aurra?" in his mind, Jaster saw the chalk white face of the Palliduvan bounty hunter; her heavily lidded and shaded green eyes and curling black lips and gaunt cheeks. Her head was completely bald except for the heavy single bundle of vibrant red hair bound at the crown of her head.

Bossk nodded with another flickering tongue. "The sssame. Wasss there when he did it too. Pushed her off of a platform on Bessspin all to ssstop her from shooting sssome whelp." Jaster scoffed, he knew from personal experience better than to put killing a kid past her.

"I assume you're taking the job." Bossk shook his head as he leaned back in his booth. "How come? A man-hunt is your expertise."

"Exxxactly. Let'sss just call it a mercccy. Besssidessssss, I'm not looking to go to Ssssavareen anytime sssoon. That's the last place Beckett was ssspotted and where he killed Crimssson Dawn'sssss leader. Its eassssy creditsssss," Bossk said with an urging tone.

"I'll find my own jobs, thanks," Jaster said as he stood up and collected his Westar 34 and holstered it behind his cape.

"Sssuit yourssself. Sssssee you around, Boba." Without another word, Jaster turned away and walked out of the saloon, back into the heat of Floruum's sulfurous air.


	4. Chapter 4 - Old Faces

04

OLD FACES

With less than an hour before his appointed meeting with his employer, Hondo Ohnaka, Jaster made his way back to the landing lot. His initially paid for hour was up and soon would be owing an extra ten credits that he would rather not spend. Looking around the trading post, there were a few precarious places where he could relocate his ship to in order to avoid paying any more. As he made his way back down the road to the edge of the post, his helmeted head was slightly bowed with his eyes just feet out in front of his own steps. His attention was not on anything around him, in fact his mind was far distant from the present. His visit with Bossk was a shot back to his past that he'd have preferred to be left alone.

The image of Aurra Sing's face would not leave his mind. He recalled quite clearly the day eleven years ago that he first met her. He remembered how alone he felt in the safehouse in Nar Shaddaa. It was one of two places that Jango Fett had drilled into him to go in the event of his death. Jaster had followed his instruction there waiting for him in the small unimpressive apartment was a data pad with four contacts. Count Dooku, Zam Wessel, Kal Skiratta and Aurra Sing.

Jaster remembered his train of thought as an abandoned nine year old. Only two of the names were people he knew personally, one of which, Zam Wessel, he knew to be dead. Even after eleven years, that one still hurt. Zam was something of a figure to the young boy that Jango Fett could never be. The Clawdite had been more than just a bounty hunter and an associate of Jango's, she was a friend to the young boy, quick to play with and tease him.

Jaster remembered thinking his options were limited. He reached out to Count Dooku. He wasn't surprised he couldn't reach him. Jaster was there on Geonosiss. He knew the mess that the Count no doubt was in. For a month he tried to contact him before giving up and trying someone else. Between the two viable options available to him, he contacted Aurra Sing.

Days later and they met face to face. Young Jaster didn't know quite what to expect. Deep down inside, he had hoped that she would be like Zam. Jaster scoffed at his younger self's naivety. The Palliduvan was far from it. But that didn't matter. She had saved him and promised to help him achieve the only thing he desired for that long, lonely month-Revenge.

It was here on Florrum where his and Aurra Sing's plan came to fruition to lure in the Jedi Master Mace Windu. It was also the site of their failure. Jaster had been captured by the Jedi and Aurra for the first time in the year she took him in, abandoned him. As cold as she was, Jaster had strangely felt safe around her, he could trust her. On that day he learned differently. She abandoned him to the Jedi and tried to steal his ship, left to him by Jango Fett. If there was anything from his past that he wished he could have back, among all the people Jaster had ever had in his life, it was that ship. The Slave 1. It had become an omen in the galaxy. Young Jaster had logged many hours piloting the Firespray patrolling craft and climbing through every crawlspace it had to offer.

Approaching the fence to the lot at the edge of the trading post, Jaster sighed. Slave 1 was not waiting for him in the lot. As he approached the pad where he had left his ship, he stopped in his tracks.

"What the hell?" he growled behind his helmet. The plating of his G-400's hull was scattered about the pad. Sparks burst from the inner machinery and wiring, pulled out of their housing like the gore of organs torn from a body. The entire starboard engine had been disconnected from the wing with components discarded in the sand. Squat maintenance droids waddled about busily, completely unaware of the man heaving and muttering under his breath. From down the row of ships, the Weequay facilitator approached, the Akk dogs still leashed in his hands.

"Aw there you are. Just in time, your hour is up and now it will be an extra ten credits."

"What have you done to my ship?" Jaster shook as he spoke. The Weequay turned his leather-faced head to the disarrayed Starfighter.

"Aw yes! There was a leak in the fuel cell. So lucky we found it in time. One jump and KABOOM—you're space dust!"

The smile on the Weequay's face heightened Jaster's anger. "Put it back together, now!"

From behind, a familiarly scratchy, jovial voice called out. "Such unappreciation for saving your life. You should be thanking us! I'd have thought your father had taught you better." Jaster turned around to find another Weequay walking up to him with his gnarled, leathery hands flailing over his head. A long dingy, red coat skirted his ankles plastered by the dust of the sulfurous desert. Two long braids of silvering hair hung from the back of his head which was covered by a shell-like helmet. Over his eyes were green lensed riding goggles, transparent enough to still read the eccentric enthusiasm of the old pirate.

"Hondo."

"Well look at you!" Hondo laughed as he slapped Jaster on the shoulder. "All grown up now, what has it been, five years?"

"Ten," Jaster said shortly.

"Hondo tapped his chin blankly. "Hmm, time sure flies when you're wasting away and the galaxy's gone to chizk."

Jaster looked back at the other Weequay. "You, put my ship back together, now."

"Yes, yes, yes, do that. Put it all back together for my dear friend, Boba," Hondo said, shooing him away and throwing his arm over the young man's shoulders. "Come! Let us do business while your ship gets put back together. But first, we drink!"

Down at the far end of the lane of the lot opposite the gate was a small building serving as an office. As they made their way past the various ships, Hondo went on and on about the wide variety of pilots and ships that he held at his lot. Jaster couldn't help but think to himself how hard Hondo has hit the bottom. Once a notorious leader of a vast pirate gang, now he was a mere ship lot owner. Hondo led Jaster inside the office and sat down at the table inside. He reached to a cupboard and brought out half empty bottle of rum. Hondo extended the bottle to Jaster. Jaster eyed it carefully. Would Hondo try and weasel out of paying by drugging or poisoning him? Reluctantly, he removed his helmet and set it on the table. He grabbed the bottle and took a small swig, not yet swallowing. Hondo snatched the bottle back and took a longer drink. Jaster swallowed the rum, seeing it was safe.

"Well just look at you!" Hondo exclaimed as he slammed the bottle back on the table. "Spitting image of your old man." Jaster snatched the bottle back and took another swig.

"That's no surprise since I'm not Jango Fett's son. I'm his clone. He's not my father, he was a host."

"I don't know about that. Were you just a clone, you would have been part of that army for the Jedi. I'm sure everything your father did was in your best interest." Jaster scoffed at Hondo's admiration. "Jango was an honorable man and a good friend. I remember the day I met him," he added excitedly. "I was the first mate back then to Luro Tankew. We _liberated _a spice transport where your father was enslaved-still don't quite know how he got there-would have probably kept him that way had he not freed himself and helped kill the spice traders. But business was still very, very good that day."

"Speaking of business," Jaster cut in knowing that if he didn't Hondo would continue to ramble on. "Bule Konossa is dead. I'll be taking my pay now." Jaster held his hand out and open in wait. With the bottle tipped back to Hondo's mouth, he eyed the open gloved palm.

"Why of course!" Hondo exclaimed with drops of rum escaping his lips and spilling on his shirt.

"Four thousand credits," Jaster pressed with his open hand.

"As agreed." Hondo laughed nervously. "About that, Boba," he groaned. Jaster's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You have to understand, times are tough and credits are tight these days."

"Spill it, Hondo," Jaster growled, his hand now a fist.

"I don't have it."

Jaster sprang to his feet. "You washed up, skeevy nerf-"

"Now there's no need to get nasty," Hondo said.

"You owe me for that bounty," Jaster growled.

"Of course. Now I may not have credits to pay, but I do have something you want more, well worth the killing Konossa for me." Jaster stood with his hands balled into fists.

"Really, and what is that?" he scoffed.

Hondo stood up and made his way to the office door, beckoning the young bounty hunter. "Come, follow me."


	5. Chapter 5 - Hos Brenth

05

HOS BRENTH

High in the orbit of the planet Kessel, Hos Brenth's personal ship loomed over the acid burned atmosphere. The yacht was the most prestigious possession of the Crimson Dawn Lieutenant. As a Mandalorian, he was not one for many material possessions, something that he and his fellow Mandalorian and former Death Watch comrade, Dryden Vos differed on greatly.

Vos' entire persona upon becoming the face and de'facto leader of the syndicate was submerged in lavish riches and items of vanity. Both of their loyalties to Lord Maul since his brief rule as Mandalor, with the Death Watch splinter cell under his command to his rise in power as the syndicate of Crimson Dawn had made them both very rich and powerful men. It was Dryden's ability to become an image of a business man that tipped the scales in his favor in the eyes of Maul to appoint him as his puppet—an image that corrupted his Mandalorian heritage.

That's what killed Dryden Vos, not some scoundrel with a blaster. Hos would not be so easily dispatched. The large circular dojo chamber with a high ceiling on his yacht had a smooth, flat floor, a circle border detailed on the smooth metal surface. The room was dimly lit by six encircling torches along the walls.

Set on a post outside of the circle was a red and grey detailed chest plate assembly. A pair of gauntlets equipped with various tools and weapons built into them were set on this post as well. The Mandalorian armor was scratched and the paint was scuffed and weathered. At the top of the post sat a fierce black and red detailed helmet with a sharp black 'T' shaped visor. The armor was still, as if watching the figures in the circle.

Hos' broad frame was shadowed in the dim room by his dark skin. His bared upper body rippling with muscle, scarred and burned in various places from the warrior's brutal life. Surrounding him were five combative droids with average humanoid proportions and shapes. A single yellow glaring light serving as optical receptors fixed on him from each of the droids.

Hos didn't wait for their attack. He lashed out to the droid on his left. In its mechanical grip a vibro-sword swiped through the darkness. Hos dodged the swinging blade and firmly grasped the head of the droid in one hand and wrist in the other before kicking the shoulder joint, tearing it from its place, leaving the gore of exposed wires. With the detached arm still dangling from the vibrosword's hilt, Hos quickly spun behind the amputated droid just as a pair of blaster bolts fired, hitting the droid.

Already, his blade clashed with the dagger wielded by another hostile droid. Hos kicked the droid in the midriff, causing it to keel over before swinging down hard with the vibrosword, cleaving it into the droid's cranium. The droid with the blaster pistol fired again but Hos ducked to the dojo floor rolling away while snatching the dagger. Already another droid engaged, armed with an electro staff buzzing with purple electric nodes on both ends.

Hos went for a quick jab to the droid's throat but missed, instead receiving a shocking blow to his exposed ribs. The electricity stung and left a singeing burn. With a grunt, Hos spun round again, grasping at the staff while slicing the droid's throat. With the dagger still in hand, Hos threw it, spinning blade over handle at another approaching droid. The droid dodged before lunging its three pronged spear down on the Mandalorian. With the electrostaff, Hos caught the spear in the saddle of the prongs just short of an inch from his own face.

Another pair of blaster fire bolted his direction but missed as he spun and jabbed one of the nodes of the staff at the spear wielding droid. The droid blocked the first attack but was not ready for the quick reciprocating strike of the opposite node to the head. The droid's circuit's fried from the blunt impact, leaving a sizzling dent. As the droid crashed hard to the dojo floor, Hos followed through with a heavy boot stomping in the droid's temple to finish the job.

The blaster pistol wielding droid fired another pair of blaster bolts which were thrown off target as Hos swatted the pistol with a spin of the electrostaff. He followed through, swiping a leg out from under the droid. Hos dropped the staff and spun behind the droid, catching it in his bare hands and snapping its neck. Servo motors wined under the strain then gave out with wisps of smoke as the droid collapsed.

He stood amongst the wreckage of sparking, smoking droid corpses, heaving heavy breaths. From behind, the single door to the dojo opened with a hiss and a humming presence entered the room.

"Status report," the neutral buzzing voice said.

Hos turned around to find his XR-60 assistant droid hovering outside of the dojo circle. A glowing red optical lens fixed on him from the equator of a spherical body with four dangling limbs. "Report," Hos breathed as he stepped out of the circle.

"Lieutenant Qi'ra issued a private bounty contract on Tobias Beckett and crew exactly 11 hours, 34 minutes, 21 seconds ago. Ten bounty hunters have been contacted. 4-LOM, Aal Gosha, Amanaman, Bossk-"

"Show me," Hos ordered. A red holographic projection shone from XR-60's lens. The list of bounty hunters materialized before Hos whom studied it. As Hos scanned the list, few names caught his attention. "How much is she offering?"

"Bounty for Tobias Beckett and crew is listed for twenty thousand imperial credits."

"An easy outbid," Hos said to himself. He'd already thought over his course of action. Next was to choose who to hire for the job – a hunter for a hunter. He would finish what Qi'ra had begun and he would be the new head of Crimson Dawn.


	6. Chapter 6 - Reunion

06

REUNION

Set in the cliff side of the canyon wall was a wreckage of a G9 Rigger class freighter, its long, single wing sticking straight up in the air. Below the wreckage, the rock wall depressed in a cloud of dust and lowered belowground. Moments later, Hondo drove his land speeder into the mouth of the cave. Jaster watched behind him as the hidden door rose and sealed them in darkness.

"You should consider yourself honored," Hondo shouted over the obnoxious clanging engine of the speeder. "This place is my most precious secret." The speeder emerged from the tunnel into a vast chamber, still engulfed in darkness. Hondo switched on the speeder's headlights as he slowed to a stop. With the engine still clanging, they both hopped out of the cab. Jaster peered around in the darkness through the night vision filter of his helmet, hands instinctively on his blaster grips from behind his cape. He would't dare put it past the old pirate to try and kill him to get out of paying, in a sense, that's exactly what he did with Bule Konossa. With a sudden flash, Jaster was blinded. His blaster was half drawn from its holster. "Welcome to my humble home," Hondo exclaimed. Jaster removed his helmet and rubbed his eyes. Large lights shone down on the cavernous chamber which had flared his nightvision in his eyes. Hondo still stood beside the power generator's switch.

"A little warning next time," Jaster muttered. After allowing his eyes to adjust, he peered around. The vast cavern stretched on and on. Close to the entrance was what appeared to be the layout of an entire home spread on the floor without walls. A large bed was surrounded by crates of various belongings. Empty bottles were scattered about. Opposite the bed was a cooking unit and further away was an entire portable refresher station. Next to the bed was a pole with a small red Kowakian monkey-lizard a tuft of green feathers perched completely still. From Jaster's distance, he could discern that the pet was stuffed. Only very vaguely did Jaster remember Hondo's pet that once climbed on his shoulders nearly a decade ago. "So where's my pay? It better be something good."

"Well seeing as how you are in need of a ship, I think you will be very satisfied with this," Hondo beckoned with a smile. Jaster followed behind him as they strode past the old Weequay pirate's abode. Further down the cave, Jaster saw a handful of ships. Many were rusting and dilapidated. It was a safe bet that few of them had not seen space for nearly ten years. "My collection is not what it once was," Hondo sighed. "This used to be filled with my entire fleet. A ship for every occasion. But business is not cheap and piracy doesn't pay what it used to, I've been forced to sell many. Nearly sold this one too. Thank the stars I did not!" Hondo and Jaster stopped at a massive shape concealed by a giant canvas. Together, they pulled down on the hem of the canvas which was surprisingly light despite the accumulation of years of dust. As the canvas pulled away, Jaster suddenly felt a heaviness in his chest. A sloped canopy was set in a mound like structure. On both sides, fin like wings protruded from large arched housing couplings. With wide eyes, Jaster made his way around the ship. The ship rested flat on the cavern floor on the mound like base of its structure. On top was the main hold, topped by the sloping canopy and narrowed down to a tail mounted by twin turbo lasers spanning over the main entrance ramp of the ship. Though the paint job was vastly different, Jaster recognized by some of the unique plating patchwork, the vessel to be more than just any Firespray-31-class patroller. The ship's base was painted a dark red while the rest was its natural plated durasteel tone with muted olive detailing. A faded red symbol had been added to the ship since the last he saw of Slave 1.

"I had it fixed up after Aurra crashed it," Hondo said to the silent young bounty hunter. "Such a dangerous woman," he relished with a chuckle.

"She flies?" Jaster inquired with his hand placed lightly on the hull.

"She should. I used her quite a bit for a time but not anymore." Hondo heaved a sigh.

A thunderous explosion shook the cave. Dust rained down on them as their attention was suddenly captivated by the expanding cloud at the main entrance. Jaster donned his helmet and drew both Westar 34s. Hondo stumbled as he turned to see the entrance, still clouded by the explosion. Suddenly a large speeder transport erupted from the cloud of dust, ramming through Hondo's belongings, leaving a scattered mess behind.

The speeder jolted to a halt yards away from where they stood. Three blaster armed aliens emerged from each flank of the speeder while another two hopped out of the cab. Still standing on the speeder's hood was a grey skinned Devaronian with a long goatee protruding from his pointed chin that seemed to mimic the two curled horns on his head. In his hand was a blaster pistol he aimed at the old Weequay pirate.

"Ohnaka, show yourself, you slime!"

From behind the cover of some crates, Jaster and Hondo peeked at the intruders. "Come now, no need to be nasty, that's just bad business!" Hondo said.

"You had Bule Konossa killed and I'll bet it's the bounty hunter scum you're talking to that did it."

"You know these guys?" Jaster whispered to Hondo.

"Friends of Konossa. Didn't know he had any," Hondo shrugged. "I'm sure there's an arrangement we can come to where we are all rich and not dead. What do you say?" Hondo called back out.

"Not likely," Jaster muttered as he drew a thermal detonator from his belt. He chucked it from behind their cover and waited. One of the armed hitmen shouted in their own alien tongue before the thermal detonator exploded. Jaster rolled from his cover, firing his blasters. His advantage was brief, shooting down one overwhelmed hitman. The remaining hitmen, including the Devaronian opened fire on him, sending a barrage of blaster bolts his way. Jaster dove back into cover behind the wing of Slave 1. Hondo cowered behind the cover with his own blaster pistol in hand. Now and then his blaster peeked from behind the crates and fired. Blaster fire peppered Slave 1's wing. Jaster hopped from cover, firing his twin Westars. The hitmen scattered from the young bounty hunter's efforts. The other three hitmen on the right flank adjusted their fire to his position.

"Yes, good plan!" Hondo jeered as he charged from his position to the ramp of Slave 1. Jaster snarled at the thought of the pirate on his ship but refocused on the attacking hitmen. From behind the crates off to the right, a Rodian hitman emerged with a leveled blaster rifle. Jaster fired a pair of shots, dropping the green rubber skinned alien. A sudden rumble sounded from the base of Slave 1. Jaster couldn't help but smirk at seeing the ship coming back to life. Slowly, the ship rose off the ground. Intense heat poured from the wash of the main thrusters, lifting the ship off of the cavern floor. Blaster fire from the hitmen peppered the ship. Jaster ran to the ramp as the ship continued to rise and slowly rotate. He jumped onto the edge of the ramp, stumbling forward as he made his way to the open entry hatch. Standing in the doorway, he fired back at the hitmen. A sudden burst of intense cannon fire erupted from the twin turrets mounted at the end of the tail. Dust and debris rained down on the ship from the launch entry directly above. Sunlight poured on the ship as it rose from the cavern through the improvised entry. Jaster hit the switch as he stepped inside and the entry hatch lowered and sealed shut behind him. The gravity in the ship suddenly shifted

"Oh chizk." The entire ship turned upward 90 degrees, throwing him off his feet. He landed hard against the main hatch before collapsing on his side. With the ship upright in its flying position, Jaster got back on his feet and grumbled as he walked to the ladder against the back wall and climbed through each open entry to the cockpit.

Seated in the pilot's chair, Hondo hummed a tune as he piloted the ship over Florrum's sulfurous wasteland. "Ah, good, you made it on board."

Jaster fixed the Weequay with a sharp stare. "Get out of my chair."

"Yes of course," Hondo exclaimed as he activated the autopilot and stood up from the controls. "So you accept my offer? We are now even?"

Jaster sat down behind the piloting controls and deactivated the auto pilot. "I'm dropping you off at the next stop."

"Excellent! If you would be so kind to take me to Garel?" He sighed as the smile left his leathery face. "There seems to be nothing left for me here."

Jaster looked over his shoulder to see a deep look in the old pirate's eyes. Hondo's attention seemed lost as he gazed out through the windshield of Slave 1 at the desert of Florrum. Jaster could relate. His one home he had ever had quickly became a place he could never go back to and now there was no longer a reason to. But Jaster knew first hand that didn't make leaving a home for good any easier. Returning his attention to his ship, Jaster pulled back on the yoke and tilted the Slave 1 through the soup of orange clouds and into the vast deep black of space.


	7. Chapter 7 - Jaster's Legacy

07

JASTER'S LEGACY

Through the windshield of the Slave 1, the swirl of light of the hyperspace tunnel offered its blue glow on the pilot's console and Jaster's face. The young bounty hunter navigated the ship's systems with practiced ease. As his hands and fingers fell into familiar patterns of movement, a miniscule grin crept on his face. Despite the years of having been apart, the ship felt the same, obeying with ease to all of his commands, welcoming his control.

Sitting in the pilot's chair, he thought he heard the cold voice of a woman. "Impressive, Boba." A chalk white, hand with long fingers like the legs of a spider rested on his shoulder.

"You think that's good, watch this," he heard himself say. The memory soon faded. He couldn't recall which of the daring stunts he executed in flying the surprisingly agile patroller. Jaster shook his head, the curls of his thick black hair falling into his eyes. He swept them aside and adjusted his seat, the slim angular frame of the chair was stiff and offered little padding. He had forgotten how uncomfortable they were. Looking about the cockpit of the patroller, he made a short note of what he wanted to do with his ship, the seats would be among the first of many changes-but first, he needed credits.

Jaster activated the ship's star chart display. The orange lighted display immediately showed a readout of the planet Garel. He didn't know anything about the small back world of the outer rim and what he read didn't impress him. He needed to find another job. As he sifted through worlds displayed on the star charts, his mind wandered.

Bossk's rasped voice hissed in his mind. "_Savareen… The last place Beckett was spotted… Its easy credits." _Jaster searched the star chart, navigating further past Garel to find Savareen. He looked at the readout, a desert planet with vast oceans known for its brandy exports and its coaxium refineries. What brought Beckett there? With this questions still in mind, the route proximity monitor beeped out loud, attracting Jaster's attention.

"We're approaching Garel," he announced into a com. Jaster pulled back on a lever and watched as the swirl of blue flashed and the windshield before him was filled with stars surrounding a world enveloped by clouds. Through the foggy atmosphere, the lights of cities could be seen from the depths of space.

Slave 1 soared through space, into the planet's orbit and outer atmosphere. Before long, the ship flew in the purple and pink hues of the clouds in a violet sky. Jaster directed the ship to a city below. It was aglow with life. Yellow lights among a cratered and mountainous terrain. In the midst of the city, one of many large, walled, hexagonal landing pads was open.

Jaster didn't bother answering the docking authorities hail on his coms, he didn't plan to stay long enough to pay a toll. Upon approach, Slave 1 eased forward for the base of the ship's back to face the landing pad, the fin like wings rotating to match the orientation of the ship. The ships settled on its back and came to rest, its engines whining down.

Now laying on his back in the pilot's chair, Jaster grinned to himself. Even after ten years of being apart, he still knew how to handle the ship of his childhood. He unbuckled the safety harness of the pilot's chair and crawled his way to the hatch where the ladder ran along the floor leading to the lower decks. Jaster crawled on hands and knees through the hatch to the second level. He rose to his feet, taking in the feeling of owning the Slave 1 once again.

Jaster looked around at the interior. In the ten years, very little had changed. Storage compartments lined the walls. Quick inspections of each found them to be empty or simple receptacles of junk. Jaster sighed. Though he loved the ship as it was, it would take some time and credits to turn it into his ideal home. Secured on a magnetic clamp plate was a single crate. He approached it, rubbing at his chin. The young bounty hunter tried to pry the lid off but found no luck in doing so.

Wincing and groaning, Hondo emerged from the hatch of the main hold. He stood up and pushed against his hunched over spine which cracked back into place. "A little warning next time when you make the ship go all topsy turvy. I'm an old Weequay, you know."

Jaster stood up, unable to hide his smirk. "This is your stop, old man."

"So it is," Hondo groaned. "Ah," he said peering over Jaster's shoulder at the crate. "That was the one crate that I could never open."

"Its voice code sealed," Jaster observed.

"Only Fett himself could open it – or someone with the exact same voice," he hinted boldly. Jaster looked at the mechanism as Hondo rambled on. "I tried everything that came to mind in my very best 'Jango.' It was no good. Whatever is in there must be of great value," he chuckled. Jaster inspected the mechanism. Sure enough, the mechanism was old enough to have been used by Jango Fett himself. Jaster pressed the button, the interface light glowed blue.

"Jango Fett," Jaster spoke clearly. The interface's vocal tracker fluctuated with his voice before beeping and flashing red in rejection. "Boba Fett." Another beep and red flash. Big surprise. "Zam Wessel." Another red flash. Jaster frowned. "Slave 1." More red. "Kamino." Red. Jaster dove deeper, prying into memories he seldom called upon any longer. "Concord Dawn." Red. "Mandalore." Red. "Mandalorian." Red. Taking a step back, he tore through his memories. "Jaster Mereel?"

Hondo watched with piqued anticipation, not knowing or recognizing half of the passcodes the young man was attempting. The crate beeped and flashed red again. Jaster clenched his fists then let them go limp as it suddenly donned on him. "Jaster's Legacy." After a short pause, the blue vocal tracking interface glowed green and a different beep sounded. Hondo cackled with joy as Jaster lifted the lid away.

"Jaster's Legacy," the old pirate echoed. "Now what could that mean I wonder." Jaster peered into the crate with a dulled look in his dark eyes. It was Jango Fett's obsession. Time and time again, he reminded the young boy of who he was training him to be.

"It was his old ship," Jaster said bitterly. He also knew this to be true. Well before Jaster had been grown in the cloning facility of Kamino, and before acquiring Slave 1, it was indeed the name of Jango's old ship inherited from the Mandalore Jaster Mereel himself, Jango's adoptive father. The young bounty hunter knew in his hubris that the old ship was not the intent of Jango's chosen passcode.

Jaster set the lid aside and found himself peering into the fierce black 'T' visor of a Mandalorian helmet. The helmet itself was olive green with dark red accents around the visor. He picked the helmet out of the crate and held it in amazement, never again did he think he'd ever see this set of armor.

"I thought Jango wore something a bit more shiny?" Hondo inquired.

"He did. This was his first set. Given to him by Jaster Mereel."

"Who?"

"Fett's father."

"Ah, I see," Hondo said without enthusiasm, clasping his leathery hands together before spinning on his heel. "Well, its been quite an adventure, Boba. I do hope we can meet together again some time." He made his way to the hatch and crawled through to the main hold. Jaster set the helmet back in the crate. He didn't say anything as he followed the old pirate through to the main hold to the closed entry hatch. Hondo pressed the control and the hatch rose open. "Do take good care of this ship. I am off to see what riches and fortune await me here."

Jaster watched as Hondo strode down the ramp to the landing pad below, his leathery hand waving goodbye. Pressing the control, the hatched lowered again and sealed shut. "Goodbye old man." Jaster stood in the main hold, taking another moment to take in his ship. The light hum of the old ship was labored, but all was quiet and once again, Jaster was alone and for the moment at peace.


	8. Chapter 8 - Suspicions

08

SUSPICIONS

Qi'ra missed the light. The fortress for Crimson Dawn on Dathomir seemed devoured in a misty darkness. Dim torches lined the wall of the corridor leading to Maul's chamber. The entire fortress seemed isolated and devoid of life. No guards were posted outside of the chambers massive door, not that she believed that Maul required any. Pushing the heavy door open, Qi'ra stepped inside to the dismally shadowy chamber. From across the chamber, Maul's fiery eyes fixed on her, glowing amidst the darkness on his face.

Collecting her nerve, she stood up straight and approached the center of the room, dropping to a knee with a bowed head. "You summoned me, my lord?"

"Yes. Something has been troubling me as of late," Maul said, stroking his red tattooed chin. "Beckett and his crew stormed Vos' ship and destroyed everyone on board and yet, you are the sole survivor."

Qi'ra remained bowed, hiding the astonishment set in her eyes. She hesitated, allowing the flutter in her throat from discrediting her voice. "As I said, I was not with Dryden when he died." Maul was silent as he stared down at her from his throne. She had lost track of how long she had been in his presence and under his scrutinizing stare. Qi'ra risked looking up at the crime lord.

"I'm curious how you'd have faired had you have been," he said. He stood, the mechanics of his prosthetic legs straining as he stood up. In his hand was a short vibrosword. "Show me."

Qi'ra stood and frowned as he brandished the sword before tossing it to her. She caught the sword with practiced ease but the look of shock fell on her face. Maul stepped down from his throne's platform, another vibrosword in hand.

Her eyes widened as he quickly closed the space between them. His strikes were filled with malice yet tempered with precision. Still reeling in surprise, Qi'ra took the defensive, blocking Maul's blows and parrying back. She maneuvered backwards and a chilled focus took over her eyes. Was he trying to kill her?

Qi'ra took the initiative with a quick diversive swing before taking a lunge. Maul evaded her blade and came in for a counter which she was ready for. She parried the blow before they locked blades overhead. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she panted for breath. Maul grimaced before striking with his mechanical leg a kick to her midriff. Qi'ra keeled over, trying to back away from the Zabrack.

Though still in pain and gasping for air, she spun away from Maul's blade then countered again with intense focus. Maul's blade was thrown from his hand, yet his expression didn't change.

Qi'ra felt her heart race anxiously, seeing her opening. She swung hard at Maul's chest. From his black robes, he drew another weapon. His black gloved fist was fitted on a grip with two curved blades extending from both ends. The blade's razor edges came alive was they glowed red and hummed lightly. Intent to hold her ground and even to win, Qi'ra didn't notice, even when Maul parried her strike with the two sided blades. She struck again with a quick follow through which flowed like a work of art. Maul again blocked the blow before lashing out with the short bladed weapon. Qi'ra felt the intense heat of the blades as they whizzed past her skin. As Maul went in for another strike, his blades sliced through Qi'ra's vibrosword. Shock again stole over her face as her blade clattered on the floor, leaving a clean slice inches from the ovular cross guard on the hilt in her hand. She knew she had lost. Finally it registered within her mind that Maul held the favored weapon of her former employer, Dryden Vos at her throat. She shuddered slightly and swallowed hard, still fighting to catch her breath.

Maul stood silent and still with Vos' weapon held at her throat. "You are quite skilled. It is a shame that you were not by Vos' side to protect him." His tone was dark, and to Qi'ra, mocking. Qi'ra fought her expressions. A part of her waited and even wanted for Maul to finish his kill stroke.

_He knows. _She fought to suppress the thought and the image that accompanied it. Weeks ago, back on Vos' yacht, with that very weapon, one blade cut into the blade of her sword, the other was lodged in the crimelord's chest. Vos died by her hand. It was something that only she and Han knew. But now, Maul knew it too. He must have figured it out.

Slowly Vos' blade lowered from under her chin. Turning away from her, he stepped back up to his chair with heavy mechanical steps. He gave one brief look to the weapon still in hand before tossing it aside into the shadows. In Qi'ra's mind the blade's clatter echoed forever in the darkness of the chamber.

"How goes the hunt for Vos' killers?" he asked as he lowered himself back onto the chair. Qi'ra found her breath again, thinking quickly of how and what to say. She brushed strand's of her dark hair from her face as she swallowed again and tried to speak.

"It is in progress. Many hunters have responded with enthusiasm for the job- A few big names in particular. I am confident one of them will see it through."

"I should hope so for your sake. Their failure will be reflected as your own."


	9. Chapter 9 - Tobias Beckett

09

TOBIAS BECKETT

Slave 1's hatch opened and Jaster descended the ramp. Savareen's sunlight was filtered through his red helmet. Jaster tugged at his collar. Standing at the foot of the ramp, he looked out over the orange tinted ocean from the dying sun. On approach to the desert, oceanic world's orbit, Jaster had scanned for possible landing locations. Knowing that Savareen housed a Coaxium refinery, he decided to start there- why else would Beclett and Crimson Dawn come to this small dustbowl?

Pnakotic Coast was a small village that seemed to be swallowed by the sloping mounds of the beach. Old rundown huts of sheet metal with doomed rooftops looked as if natural disasters had eroded them away. A single large, establishment of metal tubing and large foundries was set off to the side of the village - still and abandoned. Lanterns hung about in the village against the fading light of the sun.

No port authority could be found and no one running up to Jaster to demand for his dwindling credits. With one hand set on the grip of one of his pistols from behind the shroud of his cape, Jaster climbed up the beach to the village. Many of the structures serving as homes and quaint vendors were scattered about appearing more like hollowed out starship wreckage than actual buildings. Jaster peered around, catching the suspicious eyes of villagers with sunbaked faces. Their clothing was simple yet colorful and tribal with wraps and shawls of hand woven quality. Not a single sign of weaponry or armor could be spotted, yet still Jaster kept his hand readily on his holstered blaster. A woman with the same suspicious stare passed him by.

"Hey," Jaster called for her attention. "Anywhere I can get a drink?" The woman paused next to him and with a scrawny arm, pointed up the beach to an open walled establishment. Jaster nodded her way before continuing up the sloped sand. The saloon was a large domed roof top draped with canvas awnings. The inside glowed warmly in lantern light. A large dilapidated distillery system was encircled by a makeshift bar where a small white bearded man with a dark skin tone stood in wait for Jaster's order. Jaster peered around the saloon wary of the unsettling silence that seemed to envelope all of the village apart from the crashing of the coastline. Only one other patron, a Twi'lek, stood at the bar with a single small porcelain cup.

"I'll have what he's got."

The small bearded man nodded before turning away to fill another cup from a jug by the distillery.

"Should have gone for the brandy instead," the Twi'lek chuckled. His orange face scrunched with a drunken smile. Jaster removed his red helmet and set it on the bar, paying the drunk no mind. He liked feeling the coolness of the beach air on his face. The man set the cup in front of Jaster without a word.

"Tobias Beckett," Jaster inquired. "Does that name mean anything to you?" The bartender stared blankly before turning away without a single word. "Hey," Jaster called.

"He can't talk to you," the Twi'lek chimed in. "None of them can." Jaster looked across the bar at the alien.

Two tail-like leku extensions hung from the back of his head behind a bulbous forehead where a set of polarized red lensed goggles sat. Around his neck was a kerchief that sat just below his pointed chin. The rest of his apparel was that of any spacer-a heavy jacket and cargo trousers. What really caught Jaster's eye was the gunbelt where no doubt a blaster was holstered just out of view. "What was the name again?"

Jaster hesitated, looking him up and down. At the moment, this Twi'lek was the only one who spoke to him. Given his experience so far with the mute woman that pointed him to the saloon and equally mute bar tender, he was given to believe the Twi'lek's claim.

"Tobias Beckett."

The Twi'lek downed the last of his cup and winced bitterly and blanched with a smack of his lips. "I know where he is."

"Where?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Business," Jaster replied simply."

"Well that tells me absolutely nothing," the Twi'lek said.

"I owe him, looking to pay him back."

The Twi'lek smirked. He didn't buy it. "This way," he beckoned with fingerless gloved hands. As the Twi'lek strode past, Jaster caught a glimpse of the blaster strapped to the alien's thigh. Jaster took the cup from the bar and spilled the clear liquid out on the sand, now was not a good time to risk intoxication from an unknown liquor.

With his helmet back on his head, Jaster followed the Twi'lek, his hand still on his blaster behind the cape. The Twi'lek led Jaster silently through the village to the outskirts up a hill of sand. Jutting from the sandy hilltop were rows of six foot tall black jagged obelisks like the teeth of a creature. The Twi'lek paused and pointed into the cluster of black obelisks. Jaster cautiously stepped in their midst. In between two obelisks, was a mound of sand with a large flat stone set on top. He inched closer peered down at the stone. His helmet's visor zoomed in on the characters roughly scratched by hand onto the surface of the stone. The name took some effort to read from the crudity of the inscription. Tobias Beckett.

"He's dead?" From behind, Jaster heard a click. His hand moved to draw his Westar. The blaster rang as the bolt struck him in the back and Jaster yowled as he dropped on top of the grave mound. A freshly burned hole continued to smoke in Jaster's tan cape.

"Nothing personal kid, just can't let you interfere with my bounty," the Twi'lek waved his blaster pistol as he spoke. He clicked his tongue with pity as he began to turn away. Jaster suddenly flipped onto his back-his Westar blaster drawn—and he fired. The shot echoed as the Twi'lek stood on shaking legs, clutching at his stomach, eyes drawn to the exposed olive green armor plating the young bounty hunter wore under his cape. As the Twi'lek bounty hunter collapsed to the sand, Jaster stood stiffly, grunting from the throb on his back. The Beskar Mandalorian armor proved itself in Jaster's eyes, now thankful he had decided to wear it.

Jaster stood over the Twi'lek, his blaster hovering over the alien's anguished face. "Didn't see that coming," he groaned.

"Crimson Dawn hire you?" Jaster inquired.

"Yes."

"Who killed Beckett?"

"No clue."

"Then who buried him?"

"Don't know. Probably his crew."

"His crew?"

The Twi'lek clamped his mouth shut and stared defiantly at Jaster.

"You're dying. I can make it easier or worse, you choose. Talk."

The Twi'lek sighed with shaken resolve. "I don't know. All I know is that they came in about a week ago with a ton of raw Coaxium."

"I want names," Jaster growled.

"I don't know," the Twi'lek winced. "You'll have to do that part yourself."

With his blaster still poised over the Twi'lek's head, Jaster pieced it all together in his mind-the Coaxium was the key.

"That's all I know. Please just finish me," the Twi'lek winced again.

"As you wish." Jaster pulled the trigger, his blaster pistol still smoking as looked down on the bounty hunter dead in the sand. Jaster crouched down and searched the body. From his belt, he found a pouch of credit chips—Jaster couldn't help but smirk as he pocketed them in his own credit pouch. Very little else was of value to him except for the hand held datapad which was stowed in the cargo pocket of his trousers. Jaster flipped through the touchscreen interface, finding a starship registration, potentially more for Jaster to scavenge. The screen showed the image of a simple saucer shaped Flarestar Class shuttle under the name of Aal Gosha. Jaster looked back down at Aal's body and nodded. "Thanks."


	10. Chapter 10 - First Impressions

10

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Finding the Flarestar Command Class Gunship was easy and with Aal Gosha's datapad, accessing its security system was even easier. The saucer shaped craft was set on a landing pad on the opposite side of the village away from the beach. Jaster climbed into the roomy gunship's cockpit. Four seats were placed at individual stations, two side by side behind the windshield and piloting controls and the other two set off to each side. A communications terminal was set in front of one of the seats off to the side. Jaster stood in front of it and pulled up the display. Jaster scanned over a list of transmission codes, each one belonging to a different recipient. Looking over the list, Jaster found the record for a transmission with the timestamp for two days before. Jaster knew very little about this job, only what Bossk had already told him. With a very broad idea of when the bounty was posted, Jaster selected the most appropriate transmission code. It was time he contacted his employer. With his helmet over his face, he stood before the holoprojector. A hazy blue image of a woman stood on the holoprojector pad. Her slim face was paled by her dark hair.

"Hello, Aal," she greeted with a voice slightly garbled by static. "Wait, you're not Aal."

"No, I'm not the tail-head."

"Who are you, where is Aal?" she demanded.

"Are you Crimson Dawn?" Jaster said.

The woman glared back at him. "I am, so I would answer my question if I were you. Now who are you and where is Aal?"

"My name's Jaster Mereel. Aal Gosha is dead. He tried to blast me and I put him down."

The woman's eyebrows rose in alarm. "You killed him?"

"I have Tobias Beckett," Jaster cut in.

Again the woman was taken aback. Her hands set on her hips. "Is that so?"

"He's dead here on Savareen."

She paused with a look of sudden concern that puzzled Jaster. "And, the rest of his crew?"

"I have a lead." She fixed him with a suspicious look. "But Beckett's found, I expect to be paid."

"Do you have proof?"

"I'll send it."

"Very well. Once you do, then you will be paid the promised five thousand. Then there is an extra four three thousand each for the rest of his crew."

"How many more are there?"

"We don't know. But if you find them and prove that they were a part of Beckett's last heist, then the four thousand credits are yours. That is, if you can actually deliver."

"I always get my man."

"I hear that from every cocky blaster toting scoundrel," she scoffed. "What makes you any different?"

"You haven't heard it from me." Still staring him down, the woman grinned. There was something about his brand of confidence that she admired. "I make it a point to know my employer," Jaster continued. "You have my name, what do I call you?"

"Qi'ra," she greeted. "I'll expect to hear from you, Jaster Mereel." The hologram fizzled and faded away, taking blue glow from inside the cockpit with it. Jaster stood up straight and took a deep breath with wide grin on his face.

"That went well." He turned away to the ship's boarding ramp and clambered the steep decline down the stern of the ship to the landing pad. Standing below the pair of thrusters of the ship, Jaster looked out towards the span of white sand desert and the night sky. The sun was fully gone with only the distant moon and stars left in the inky blue sky to shine on the coastline village. It was too late at night for Jaster to pry for more information about his query. A yawn within his helmet reminded him of just how long he'd gone without sleep.

As he made his way towards the bow of the saucer shaped ship, the silhouette of a figure melded in the shadows under the hull of the ship. He leaned against the foremost landing strut, his head bowed low and topped with a large wide brimmed hat.

"I feel I should thank you," a guttural almost labored sounding voice sent chills down Jaster's spine.

Jaster's hand touched the grips of his blaster. "Why's that."

The slender figure lifted his head and adjusted a toothpick in his mouth. Large squinted red eyes fixed on Jaster from the shadows of a rugged, gaunt, blue skinned face of a Duros. "You're the kid who iced Gosha. Save's the trouble of me having to do it myself."

From behind his helmet, Jaster's eyes widened with shock. He couldn't believe that he faced the most notorious bounty hunter in the known galaxy. The Duros' exploits were legendary in the criminal underworld- as one that specialized in the most respectable game of all—Jedi.

"Cad Bane," Jaster said with a hint of admiration.

"Good, you've heard of me. That'll make this next part easy." He stood rigidly before Jaster more than an inch taller than him. "Drop this hunt. Go back to your smaller game."

Jaster glared back at him. "Forget it."

Bane took a step closer. "You think because you killed Gosha that you're on your way to being the best. Well, boy, I am the best and I'm telling you to drop out."

"And I'm telling you, forget it. Someone with your reputation, I thought you'd be more impressive than just trying scare tactics," Jaster scoffed.

Bane sneered at him "That was your only warning, boy." The Duros turned around and started away from the landing pad. Jaster watched as he suddenly stopped and lifted his head to the stars above. "Nice night, don't you think?" he asked.

Jaster fixed a glare on the bounty hunter with both hands now on his Westars behind his cape, waiting for a twitch of movement from the Duros. "A bit chilly," he replied.

A smirk cracked on Cad Bane's rugged, scarred blue face. "Don't worry, it'll heat up real soon."

Jaster stood in wait for the first move, considering even to draw on the bounty hunter at that very moment. Bane turned his head with his smirk still on his face and with his slender hand tipped his hat before continuing down into the village. Watching him go, another chill ran down Jaster's spine but his blood surged hotly throughout his body.


	11. Chapter 11 - Security Measures

11

SECURITY MEASURES

Jaster got no sleep during the night. After returning to the Slave 1, he checked every inch of the ship's interior, even shuffling down the crawl space in the tail of the ship where many of the weapons functions were stored. He ran a full diagnostic check, monitoring the maintenance, wary of any sign of sabotage. When the morning finally came, Jaster head out early to the Coaxium refinery. It almost surprised him that something as valuable as the refinery, though in shambles as it was, was to be found on the backwater world of Savareen. Again, Jaster found Aal Gosha's claim of the locals not speaking to be true. It wasn't till after a man working at the refinery dragged a young girl over to Jaster that he was finally able to communicate with them. As Jaster asked a question, the old worker would respond through hand formations and movements. It almost amused him when the young girl translated the old man's request for compensation for the information he was willing to give. Reluctantly, Jaster handed him the credit chip.

"He says he saw them. Two or three men, one young, one old, a large hairy beast and a woman," the girl said.

"What were they flying?"

The girl looked to the old man who merely shook his head. "He doesn't know."

Jaster huffed a sigh. "Great."

"All he remember is one of them say something foolish. Something about making Kessel run in thirteen parsec or something?" she confusedly look back at the man to make sure her translation was true.

"Thirteen parsecs?" Jaster echoed. The old man nodded. From behind his helmet, Jaster frowned. "Thanks," he said with a nod then turned away wondering if the information was credible. Upon returning to his ship and checking the star charts, he found himself able to believe the old man's words a bit easier. Kessel was a mining world with its major export being the highly valuable Coaxium. It made sense as the logical place for Beckett and his crew to have gone before coming to Savareen. With his next destination locked in, Slave 1 lifted off of the landing pad and blasted off into space. With the ship in hyperspace and set to autopilot, he once again felt at ease.

Cleaning his Westar 34, he sat at a crate for a makeshift workbench. It didn't take long for Jaster's mind to go blank as he cleaned and his thoughts to drift, ultimately fixating on his meeting Cad Bane. Jaster had heard a great deal about the notorious bounty hunter. For a brief time, he had even shared a cell block with him in the former Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center but his path never crossed the Duros'. As Jaster wiped out the detached barrel of his blaster pistol, he pondered. Why did Bane single him out? Did he see Jaster as a threat? As the thought crossed his mind, he smirked. Good. Reattaching the barrel, Jaster slid the tibanna gas and power cell cartridge into the slot over the handle and secured it in place. The blaster vibrated in a short burst in his hand, signifying its readiness to fire. Jaster gazed over its weathered chrome barrel. Aside from the Beskar flak vest chest plate he now wore and the Slave 1, the blasters were all that he truly held on to of Jango Fett's. Customized to the Mandalorian bounty hunter's liking, they had become part of his signature during his reign as the most notorious and fearsome bounty hunter In the galaxy. It was with these blasters that Jaster learned how to shoot, instruction that Jango had lead him since he was four years old. Jaster stood from the crate and with practiced flare, spun the pistol on his trigger finger before depositing it in its holster. Both hands still on the grips, Jaster smoothly drew them in a blur, spinning them both while smoothly grasping them in a firing position again in between flips. With a smirk, Jaster spun the pistols back into his holsters. He suddenly felt as if he was only seven years old again. In amazement, he had spied Jango executing the very same moves through the scope of a sniper blaster rifle, watching the Mandalorian at work. The Besalisk was slumped dead against the wall, all four arms sprawled lifeless on the floor, a fresh smoking blast point on his chest. Through the red imaging of the scope, Jaster had watched the short exchange. Jango had dropped through the rainy night sky into the alleyway with a flare from his jet pack. Jaster saw the alien's mouth move but couldn't hear a word. A moment later, a single high powered shot lit the alleyway and caught the Besalisk by surprise. Neither he nor Jaster had seen the blaster pistol get drawn but Jaster watched with a boyish grin as the pistol spun in Jango's hand and slid back into the brown leather holster. With a blaring flash, the jetpack lifted Jango out from the alley, back toward where Jaster lay in watch.

"You gotta teach me that, Dad," Jaster heard himself say.

"You'll have plenty of time to practice triggernometry tricks, right now, focus on your marksmanship, Boba." Jaster remembered feeling belittled at that moment as he then watched Jango break down the sniper blaster rifle. As if shifting through time, Jaster's mind carried him to another day. In the room of an abandoned apartment, Jango had established a surveillance outpost across from the penthouse of his target, a wealthy Rodian on the world of Rodia. Without even looking away from the probe monitor at the table beside a window, Jango spoke to him for the first time in half an hour.

"Boba, what did I tell you about fancy blaster tricks?" he called back coolly.

"But, Dad, look!" The young boy waited for Jango's head to turn around. "Come on, Dad, look!" Begrudgingly, Jango turned in his seat, his scarred face sternly watching. The young Jaster drew both of Jango's pistols from the oversized holster he had strapped to his thighs, the slack of the fastening belt flapped freely from the poor fit around the legs of his blue trousers, yet the boy spun the shining chrome blasters with ease and slid them back into the holsters. A wide eyed expression of glee shined on the boy's face. It didn't take long before Jango's stern façade seemed to crack away a grin crept onto his unshaven face. Jaster could help but feel that same grin on his own face, now a decade later, standing in the hold of the Slave 1. A series of broadcasted beeps called out to him, bringing him back to the here and now as the ship approached Kessel. Jaster moved to the ladder at the back of the ship to climb up to the cockpit module. Reaching the top, he stepped through the mini corridor and sat down at the controls. The beeping indicator light intensified as he sat down then pulled back on the hyperdrive ignition throttle. The swirling blue tunnel of light suddenly popped as Slave 1 entered normal space but was engulfed in a gaseous fog. Lighted buoys guided the way through a path in the fog which Jaster navigated. Moments later, he spotted the clouded world of acidic orange surrounded half submerged in the storm of the maelstrom. Jaster gazed over the world. He didn't know what to expect down on the surface. He directed his ship, following the coordinates to a major mining operation on the planet surface. As Jaster descended through the soup of clouds he found streams of vapor and white smoke poured into the clouds, blotting out the sky entirely. Far below, the ravaged surface was hard as rock and barren, littered with machinery. Mills and refineries spouted flame from their smoke stacks, lending more to a sulfuric hellish feeling of despair. An alert beeped on his communications interface. Jaster pressed a button and a voice came through on the ship's onboard speaker.

"Unregistered craft, you have entered Pyke controlled air space," the voice announced. "You are ordered to land at security post 341B. Do not attempt to flee. Any deviance and you will be shot down."

"Talk about paranoid," Jaster muttered as he followed the newly broadcasted coordinates. A massive triangular hole had been dug into the earth, reaching many stories below the surface. Jaster flew Slave 1 to a bunker with a control tower extending from the circular roof that was set on the ledge of the triangular mine. The bunker was surrounded by five landing pads interconnected by scaffold supported walkways. Three of the five pads were unoccupied. Jaster eased Slave 1 onto its back, slowly landing the base on the pad. Looking forward, up into the cloud and smoke blanketed sky, Jaster unfastened his restraints and rolled out of the seat to the corridor and crawled down the ladder, through the hatches before reaching the main hold. Collecting his helmet, he placed it over his head before activating the release on the entry hatch. As it rose open, folding into the ceiling overhead, Jaster ducked as he stepped down the ramp. The air was dense and humid and had an industrial earthy tinge. Across from his landing pad was another occupied by a large shuttle. As Jaster made his way from the landing pad to the walkway leading to the bunker, three figures approached. A spindly limbed, outdated T-series droid with weathered red coloring and a dimmed out photoreceptor was flanked by two guards with quilted, long coat uniforms and a helmet with air supply attachments armed with blaster rifles. Jaster looked them up and down with a smirk, his hands already resting on his blaster pistols – he could take them. The droid stepped up as he approached.

"You're in my way, droid," he said.

"I am TG-013, ambassador for Ahlot Pyke. Identify yourself and your business."

"Name's Jaster. I'm looking for the guys who stole the Coaxium from here." The droid's head suddenly jerked back and stood silently as it received remote commands. Jaster looked about the surrounding mine operation as he waited. The machinery and grinding of earth was a constant overtone of the air around him. As he stood in wait, he couldn't shake feeling in his gut.

The droid refocused on him. "Follow me. Hos Brenth, head of Security has requested to meet you." Jaster frowned as the droid turned around and started back down the walkway. He eyed the two guards whom stood in wait. After a moment of not moving, the guard to the left demanded for him to follow in a harsh alien language and a wave of its blaster. Jaster took cautious steps, following after the droid. As he and the droid moved past them, the guards fell in behind. Jaster felt sweat start to crawl down his forehead, brought on by more than just the heat of Kessel's midday. The droid led them down the walkway to the door of the bunker which buzzed at their approach and opened. The inside of the bunker was a cool metal chamber with a single lift shaft stationed in the center leading up to the control tower. The droid stopped and focused on the shaft while the two guards stood at their posts at the door behind them.

"Who am I meeting again?" Jaster asked.

"Head of Security, Hos Brenth."

"Is he a Pyke?"

"Negative," the droid replied.

"So he's not in charge here?"

"The administrator here is Ahlot Pyke, replacement for Capo Quay Tolsite."

"What happened to him?"

"Quay Tolsite was killed during the riot."

Jaster frowned from behind his helmet. "Riot? What riot?" Suddenly the doors for the lift slid apart and a tall broad figure stepped into the chamber. Jaster's eyes widened and felt his breath catch in his throat, losing the ability to speak. The man was armored from head to toe in black and red plates of Beskar. The fierce black Mandalorian 'T' on the helmet fixed on Jaster as he approached. Jaster's heart picked up speed and he felt his hands slip from the grips of his blasters still holstered to his legs.

"Jaster, this is Head of security, Hos Brenth." Already standing a half foot taller than the young bounty hunter, Hos slowly turned to look down on him.

"_What _is your name?" he demanded with sharpened intrigue.

"Jaster Mereel," Jaster said after finding his voice.

Hos glared down on him, the fierce Mandalorian helmet giving nothing away. "Really. Tell me, is that a family name?" Hos inquired. Jaster suddenly felt very uneasy in his stomach, the man in Mandalorian armor clearly knew much more than Jaster was used to.

"No, its just mine."

"Really," Hos repeated sharply, taking a step closer in on the young bounty hunter. "And why are you here, Jaster Mereel?"

"I'm looking into the guys who stole the Coaxium from this place," Jaster said, trying to regain the momentum and confidence he had just moments before the Mandalorian entered the room. "They killed one of my employers."

"And who hired you?" Hos demanded with a knowing tone and unrelenting dominance. Jaster had a sick feeling in his gut. He didn't like where this was going.

"Crimson Dawn." Even as he said it, the words didn't feel quite right.

"Really," Hos said with an almost sinister amusement. "Take off that stupid helmet," he demanded.

Jaster stared back puzzled. "Why?"

Hos stepped up closer, squaring up on him. "Why?" he echoed. The two stared the other down before Jaster finally relented. He reached up and pulled the red plastoid helmet from his head. Hos scoffed at Jaster's age, taking the helmet from him without contest. "Let me show you something, boy," he said as he turned his armored shoulder into Jaster's face. "Recognize this symbol?"

Jaster did recognize the jagged red claw-mark scratched into the black finish of Hos' shoulder bell. "Some kind of claw?" he replied simply.

Hos scoffed again. "This is the sign of Death Watch, the last true Mandalorians." He turned to show his other shoulder the golden crest of Crimson Dawn's split circle emblazoned brightly against the black of his armor. "I know you know this one."

"Crimson Dawn," Jaster affirmed.

"That's right," Hos mocked. "Now you come in here as if you were the baddest bounty hunter around, with the name of a Mandalorian pretender and saying you work for Crimson Dawn. Got anything more to say?"

Jaster looked from his helmet, still seized in Hos's gloved hand to the black Mandalorian 'T'. "Are you going to let me pass, or do I have to blast my way through?"

Hos threw back his head with a hefty laugh. "Even for someone who's full of chizk, you've got some balls on you, kid." Jaster glared at him, unsure of what to expect. "You can go through," Hos finally said. "But try and pull anything," he warned. Hos dropped Jaster's helmet to the floor before stomping down on it hard, crushing it in with sizzling circuitry snapping under his boot. The message was understood loud and clear but Jaster's blaster was already drawn and leveled at Hos. He stared him down with grit teeth. Hos moved with speed and skill unlike Jaster had seen since his childhood. Hos disarmed him, seizing his outstretched arm with one hand while brining him into a chokehold with the other, quickly throwing him to the floor and holding his head down with his boot with his own blaster aimed at him. Hos released him with a scoff from behind his helmet. "Get up, kid." Jaster lay there slightly dazed for a moment, looking at his stomped in helmet still fizzling on the floor. With a huff, he stood back on his feet and brushed his long curly hair from his eyes fixed venomously on the Mandalorian in black armor still holding the Westar 34 pistol in his hand.

"Give that back," Jaster snarled.

"Tell you what, you go through, do what you came here to do and leave within the next hour and you can have this back," he said brandishing the blaster. Hos looked it up and down the barrel in awe. "Good ol' Westar, some fine workmanship." Jaster glowered at Hos. An unrealized sense of attachment awoke within him as Hos brandished the blaster pistols, a deep feeling spurned on by far more than just the trusty reliability the pistol had proved to him for nearly his entire life. Hos suddenly pointed the blaster back at Jaster. "Don't think I didn't see the double rig, hand over the other one too." Jaster's glower sharpened and intensified, gritting his teeth so hard they could have cracked under the force. He drew the second blasted from behind his cape and spun the grip towards the Mandalorian. Hos snatched it from him then turned away back to the lift. "Time's ticking." The lift doors closed and Jaster was left with the droid and two guards.

"We will escort you wherever you go around here," the droid said.

"Take me to the mine, show me where it happened," Jaster growled as he pressed forward. The droid took him to the door at the far end of the chamber where another walkway led to a lift descending to the mines. Jaster felt the empty holsters at his side as he and the two guards rode the lift down. How could he have let Hos get the upper hand like that? He suddenly felt as if losing the Westars was a let down to far more than just himself, but to their former owner himself, Jango. What would he say to all of this? What would he say to Jaster, seeing how weak and pathetic he was against Hos. Jaster knew one thing, Jango would hate to be insulted by anyone donning the symbol of Deathwatch, that was for damn sure. As a veteran and survivor of the True Mandalorians himself, Jango Fett knew well the stories of the Mandalorian Civil War to young Jaster. The conflict of Deathwatch fanatics overthrowing the reign of the Mandalore himself, Jaster Mereel of whom Jaster borrowed his name, was one of many stories Jango was sure to pass on to the boy, he made sure of it, he was afterall, _Jaster's Legacy. _Jaster scoffed to himself. Some legacy he turned out to be, letting a Deathwatch radical get the better of him. The lift finally stopped and let Jaster and the two guards off onto a lower level of the excavated earth where series of tunnel entrances allowed further access inside. Jaster was instead led to a speeder which carried him across the triangular chasm to the mine level on the opposite side.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Furnace

Chapter 12

THE FURNACE

Standing in the center of the abandoned mine access, Jaster gazed over the area around him. The landing was cracked and scarred from both the excavations and scored with signs of a battle. Just about everywhere he looked, damaged machinery sported blackened blastpoints from the impact of blaster fire. The mine access was a wide, jagged opening, a mouth of shadows cut into the rock wall of the landing. As Jaster surveyed the area, he felt frustrated. What was he looking for?

"Is there surveillance on these entrances? Any ship records?" he asked out loud to TG-013 whom stood by the two guards.

"There are security cameras for this level and the administrator keeps a record of registered ships that deal with the syndicate in slave transportation. However, both were wiped out in the riot."

Jaster looked back at the droid. "A riot? Tell me about the riot."

"The thieves started a slave riot to distract the guards. Its believed that the riot was started in the security control room which was vandalized by the thieves and droids which were released from their restraining bolts." The droid pointed to his own restraining bolt, a round cap like object affixed to the chest of its chassis.

"Did any of the droids find their way out here?" Jaster asked with sudden excitement.

"Affirmative."

"Do you know which ones? Take me to one of them."

"I cannot," TG-013 said with a shake of its head. "They were decommissioned and destroyed."

Jaster grunted as he raced for another idea. "Well, do you still have the bodies, er I mean, left over parts?" he corrected himself. "Take me to them."

"If they haven't been scrapped yet, they should still be at the disposal depot."

"Take me there."

Jaster and his escort of the protocol droid and two Pyke sentinels boarded the speeder a second time and flew back up to the surface to a large facility with a ring of smokestacks encircled by multiple closed chambers. The mills for refining the products of spice and coaxium were contained in the closed chambers but a single roofless chamber was set in the collection. From Jaster's seat he could see the mountain of junk piled before the furnace mouth.

The speeder descended to a walkway spanning above the junk pile. With his escort still in the speeder, Jaster leapt out and started down the walkway and climbed down the stairs, descending below the wall of the chamber to the corridor behind the feeder wall. Jaster made his way through the open door frame to the foot of the junk pile. To his surprise, Jaster looked about and saw that the junk was sorted. On one side was a collection of jagged debris and on another, Jaster could make out the jumbled forms of droids.

Jaster let out a small sigh of relief that he didn't have to dig through the mountain heap of refuse. Unceremoniously jumbled together was a pile of protocol droids, astromechs and even a handful of GNK series power droids. Squatting down infront of them, he inspected the leftover droids, suddenly realizing just how over his head he really was. He knew little about computer and mechanical work.

Scratching his head, he decided to worry about that later. The conditions of the droids varied greatly. Some were clearly damaged with exposed wiring and circuitry, others were in good condition with minor dents and scrapes but were simply pulled offline. A particuler handful, however looked as if they had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Carbon scored blastholes pocked their filthy bodies coated in dirt and grime. Jaster recognized the signs of a battle, akin to the carbon scored and blastershot machinery and scaffolding at the mine access landing where the riot had taken place.

One droid in particular was a black and white astromech. The droid's cylindrical body was completely shot up, but the domed head was intact despite extreme carbon scoring. Jaster got closer, lifting it onto its two leg struts and inspecting that the head had little to no damage. He couldn't activate the droid here, even if he did have the right tools, he wouldn't know how. Jaster grasped the head of the droid in both hands, twisting and pulling it from the body. He felt the servos freeing the movement but it wouldn't budge. Jaster released the droid's head, feeling around its domed surface for any clue on how to detach it.

Down around the rim where the head met the cylindrical body, Jaster's fingers felt along the groove, finding a catch. He pulled it free, manually unlocking the head from the body. Jaster pulled the head up to find a hollowed telescoping spine. After a quick inspection, he found the manual release and the connection for the head to the rest of the droid housed in the center of the open shaft. He wrestled to pull the stubborn plug free, banging his hand against metal innerworkings as it came undone but he didn't care. He pulled the head off of the droid and hefted it in his hands. Hopefully, this was all he needed.

Suddenly, over the clangs and whining of machinery overpowered by the roaring furnace just on the opposite side of the mountain of junk, an explosion thundered with a deafening echo in the confines of the metal walls of the chamber. Jaster looked up just in time to see the raining mass of flame sputter and fall overhead. He dove away from the pile, crashing into the wall of the chamber as the wreckage of the speeder crashed into the pile, throwing flaming debris in every direction. Jaster, dazed from hiting the wall, struggled onto his feet, wiping blood from his face from a gash on his forehead. As his vision cleared, he saw tall, lanky figure with a gaunt blue face and large yet narrow, pupilless red eyes wearing a long coat and wide brimmed hat.

"Well, well, fancy seeing you here."

Jaster recognized the chilling voice instantly, making careful note of the sleek blaster pistol aimed at him. Hovering above his shoulder was a shereical droid with a single optical sensor and outfitted with a blaster on its right side and a smoking anti-aircraft rocket launcher on its left. "Bane."

The Duros' scarred and rugged face smirked at him. "It's a smart move, checking on the busted droid memory banks."

"Seems I'm better at this than you think," Jaster said smugly. It was a lie, he struggled to believe at that moment. If he were half the bounty hunter he was meant to be, he wouldn't have ever let Bane get the drop on him.

"Don't get full of yourself, this is a move I could make in my sleep."

"And yet I'm here first. Your reputation has been exaggerated, Bane." Jaster watched as Bane's fingers flexed on the grip of one of his blasters, noticing the missing tip of his middle finger.

"Watch your mouth, boy," Bane growled. "I've been in this work since before you were even a thought."

"And even then, you were still only second best to a Fett."

Bane's red eyes sharpened as his lip curled. Not even Jaster knew where that came from. He hadn't even thought to say it. "What are you mouthing on about?" Bane snarled.

Jaster didn't back down. What was said, was said and there was nothing he could do now but stick to his guns. "Jango, clearly ten times the bounty hunter you ever were."

"Last I recall, Jango was cut down by a single Jedi." Jaster visibly flinched, his own lip curling in resentment at the mere reference of Jango's death. "I on the other hand have killed many. Now, this conversation has been pointless and annoying," he said with a shift of tone. "Time for you to hand over that droid head."

Jaster held the droid's domed head even tighter. From overhead, an arc of blue energy struck Cad Bane. With a cry, his body seized and jolted stiffly before he fell over. The droid opened fire on Jaster whom ducked behind a mass of machinery for cover, relying purely on his survival instinct without thought. The blaster fire suddenly increased as he noticed bolts flying down from the walkway above. Jaster looked up to find another figure at the edge of the walkway shooting. The silhouette briefly lighted by the muzzle flash of twin blasters. Jaster peeked around the cover of the machinery, watching as the raining blaster bolts cascaded around the maneuvering droid.

"Move it!" the voice of a woman shouted down to him. With the droid head still in hand, he scrambled over the foothills of the junk pile, careful to avoid patches of flame from the shot down speeder. Across the way, he fixed his gaze on the open door to the corridor behind the feeder wall, his target. Nothing else intruded his mind, he would not die here. He trudged on over and through the mounds of machinery and junk, occasionally encouraged by the potshots taken at him by the droid. He jumped down from the last mound, feeling his boots clang hard on the solid metal surface of the chamber floor. Sprinting to the door frame, Jaster did not turn to look back at Cad Bane's frozen, limp body sprawled on the floor. As he burst through, into the corridor, his eye spotted the feeder control console installed in the wall. He paused in thought, a scowl setting on his face as he stepped up to the controls.

"So long, Bane." A blaring siren burst with flashing red lights as his fist hit the button. The system, powerless to act against the controls sensed the breach in protocol as the floor was not cleared or the chamber door sealed, yet the massive feeder wall rumbled as pressurized pistons pushed the massive black wall toward the junk mountain in the direction of the mouth of the furnace. Jaster scrambled up the stairs, looking over the chamber's wall to see the press crawl to Cad Bane's body. Over the rumble and screech of the machinery, Jaster barely heard the woman's voice from down the walkway beckon over to him. Still engaged against the droid relentlessly firing up at her, she paid Jaster no mind as he quickly looked her over.

She wore dark fatigues with an open sleeveless jacket baring tattoos on her suntanned biceps. The woman duo wielded blaster pistols that flashed red bursts of light onto her soft, young, yet strong face marked by three hard black horizontal lines tattooed on her cheeks. Long, black untamed hair flung about past her sturdy shoulders. Over the blaster fight, and the screech and crushing of machinery, Jaster heard the quivering rumble of a repulsor engine. Overhead, an empty speeder flew towards them and abruptly hovered two feet from the edge of the walkway. "Get in!" the woman demanded as she fired a last pair of shots at the hovering droid climbing up to the walkway.

Jaster hesitated, looking around for another option, his scowl deepening as he accepted there wasn't one. He tossed the droid head into the open cab before climbing over the rail one leg after the other and jumping into the speeder. The woman was close behind, running and jumping over the rail with impressive agility into the cab of the speeder. She threw herself into the driver's seat deactivating a device plugged into an interface port, taking control of the speeder.

The droid, now hovering over the surface of the walkway opened fire again. The woman whipped her blaster pistol, aiming and firing at the droid with close precision. A smirk set on her tattooed face as she threw the speeder around. Jaster grasped onto the interior with his free hand to secure himself in his precarious seat. As the speeder began to pull away, Cad Bane burst from over the chamber walls, the propulsion of his jump jets flaring down from his ankles.

With practiced ease, the jets dissengaged and he landed on the walkway with his blaster drawn and firing at the speeder quickly disappearing in the industrial smog of Kessel's orange sky. Bane sneered as he holstered his blaster. Pinched in his grip with the finger missing the tip, was a memory card ripped from the remains of a droid- this was far from over.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

THE RISE AND FALL OF DEATH WATCH

Hos Brenth sat back in a chair with his mud caked boots kicked up on the terminal in front, looking over one of the sleek Westar 34s like a piece of art. The chrome shine of the dallorian finish was lost with age and less than pristine care but the pistol was still of fine quality. It was a relic of the Mandalorian Civil War fought nearly two decades before his time. A sly smirk crept onto his dark face, relishing in the rich history of which he had studied into long and hard.

With his free hand he drew the single hard-edged blocky shape of his own Westar 35 blaster, a weapon he had carried for nearly fifteen years as an operative for Death Watch. With the two vastly different blasters held side by side he couldn't help but appreciate the evolution of the blaster and the culture but hardly considered the upgrade as an improvement.

For Hos, the Mandalorians of forty years ago were not the Mandalorians of twenty years ago and an even farther cry from the pitiful remnant of his people today. Death Watch under the warlord, Tor Viszla, was a formidable force of terror. The plundering of Mandalorian space under his command was a worthy part of Mandalorian history. It wasn't quite the substance of legends such as the Crusades of ancient time under Mand'alor the Ultimate. His was the legacy of the likes that Tor Viszla and Death Watch tried to depose the pretender reformist, Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, in order to revive.

The Westar 34 was a favorite to many of Mereel's pitiful followers. Scanning over the elegantly crafted pistol, Hos wondered about its story, who was the real owner of this relic? Was it anyone of note of Mandalorian history? Who has it killed?

He mused at the mere possibility, the slim odds that this was the very blaster used to kill Tor Viszla himself at the hands of Mereel's successor, Jango Fett. Hos smirked at the ridiculous notion but continued to wonder just how many Death Watch soldiers of old had died by it, reducing their numbers to the mere splinter cell they had fallen to in his time.

The resurgence of Death Watch under Pre Viszla a mere twenty years after the death of Tor Viszla by Fett had brought the cell out of the shadows, starting their path once again to dominance of Mandalore. Hos was merely twenty years old at that time, highly impressionable to Pre Viszla's war cry to continue the fight that Tor Viszla had started, waging war against the pacifists that were an insult to the Mandalorian's warrior legacy.

Hos was young, not recognizing Pre's reign for the weak, pathetic child's play that it was till seeing the the crushing impact that Death Watch had on their enemies under the reign of Viszla's conqueror, Lord Maul. Under Maul's cunning, the pacifist regime was destroyed and Death Watch for a time attained the dominance it had strived for, for generations. The decision to remain with Maul even well after Death Watch was rolled into Crimson Dawn was easy. Power and domination was all within his grasp. Just thinking about it caused him to relish at his inevitable rise in power from this little competition he had with Qi'ra.

So far, the bounty hunter to progress the furthest in this hunt was this young boy calling himself after the pretender Jaster Mereel. Even with Jaster's blaster in hand, he was not impressed but he couldn't deny how much he wanted to know more. Who was he really, and how did both the name and the blasters come to him?

Hos was disrupted from his train of thought at the approach of a spindly alien figure in expensive gold glossy robes that belonged nowhere near the dirt and muck of Kessel's mine fields. Bulbous, pupil-less, glowing purple eyes set on a tiny pale face narrowed as drops of a yellow acidic saliva dripped from twin spouts dangling from sagging jowls. "I am not impressed with your protection as of yet, Mandalorian."

Hos stood up from his chair. "Is something wrong, Master Pyke?"

"I have just heard about an attack at the refineries desposal depo. A droid is offline and two sentinels dead, yet all you do is sit here. Crimson Dawn's contract for security is in jeopardy here."

"I am well aware of the attack. The loss is negligible and the one responsible will be caught, we have his ship." The leader of the Pyke Syndicate stood tall as he looked down his flat face at Hos. Behind him, two others of the Pyke species exchanged glances. "Guards have already been posted as a further measure, a remote lockdown system has been installed that only I have access to. Hos holstered his own Westar 35 on his hip and put on his helmet over his face. "I do suggest that I relocate you until this is finished. It's overkill, but if it would put Master Pyke at ease."

Ahlot Pyke clearly did not appreciate the condescention in Hos's voice. "Very well," he seethed then turned back to his advisors behind him. "Gyoot Soa, remain here and oversee operations." Gyoot bowed her head respectfully.

Hos smirked from behind his helmet, relishing in his own power. "After you, Master Pyke."


	14. Chapter 14 - An Ally

CHAPTER 14

AN ALLY

Jaster cursed as he punched the interior of the speeder.

"What's your problem?" the woman called back over the sound of the repulsor engines.

"Bane escaped, Jaster grunted as he swept his hair plastered to his forehead with blood.

"Should have tried to kill him in a more definite way, like with a blaster instead of the trash compactor."

"I would have, if I had one," Jaster grumbled.

"That's good to know," the woman smirked.

Jaster eyed her closely, muttering under his breath for saying too much. "Who are you?"

"Just call me Sin. What's with the droid?"

Jaster frowned. "Why should I tell you?"

"Judging by the way that droid head looks like it was torn off, you need someone that can work with machines."

"And that's you?" Jaster said skeptically.

"See this?" Jaster looked over her shoulder to see her pointing to the device plugged into the speeder's interface. "An auto-pilot interface linked to my gauntlet. I put it together myself."

Jaster was short on options. She was right, what he had in mind he had neither the know how or the equipment necessary to accomplish it at his disposal. But he couldn't trust her. Not that she personally gave him any reason not to – he just didn't trust anyone. That's how he had lived for the past decade since everyone before had either abandoned him or stabbed him in the back. She was an asset to use to his advantage, nothing more. "Fair enough."

"So what's with the droid? Sin repeated.

"Are you on the Beckett job?"

"I assumed both you and Cad are."

"The mine's security feeds and records were wiped during the heist. Some droids found their way onto the landing pad for Beckett's ship."

"So you're going to use the droid's visual receptor to ID the ship and find Beckett," she surmised. Jaster hesitated, deciding that letting her still think Beckett was the target was advantageous for when he would ditch her. "Not bad."

"Can you do it?" he asked.

"Yes but I will need access to an analysis system computer. Probably wont find one here on Kessel."

"They won't have one here?"

"They might've but you said their computers were junked during the heist."

"We need to get to my ship then," Jaster said. He gave brief direction, causing Sin to pull back on the yoke and climb the speeder out of the mine. As they approached the tower of the bunker on the edge of the excavation site, they circled behind to the four landing pads. Jaster peered over the edge of the open cab at the pad where Slave 1 rested. At the foot of the ramp stood two Pyke sentinels. "We got company," he shouted over the speeder's engine. They touched down on the vacant pad next to Slave 1, blowing dust up around them. Jaster leapt out, holding the dome droid head.

The Sentinels approached, voicing stern phrases in their alien tongue as they leveled their blaster rifles. Sin stepped out from behind Jaster with blasters already drawn and fired. The precise red bolt struck the guard center mass, knocking him back with impressive stopping power for a blaster pistol equal only to his confiscated Westar 34s. She snapped her aim to the second guard and shot it down. Jaster stood in awe as the woman stepped past, throwing a smirk his direction. She was good and definitely someone he needed to keep an eye on.

"Security's not going to like that," he muttered. He ran up to Slave 1's ramp and approached the hatch controls. A foreign device was attached covering the entire console with a blinking red light. Jaster pressed buttons randomly but there was no change and the entry to Slave 1 remained sealed. "Feirfek!" he growled.

"What now?" Sin asked.

"I'm locked out of my damn ship."

She stepped up to the console, running her tipless gloved fingers over the edges and surface of the device. "Damn, this is pretty sleek tech," she admired. "It's a remote lockout there's no way for me to interface with it from here, we'd have to find the central lock transmitter. Unless you have a secondary entrance to this thing," she added with a look over her shoulder.

"Airlock is at the base of the ship. Can't get to it while its landed."

"Talk about a design flaw," she quipped.

Jaster scowled at her. He agreed, but that was still his ship that she was knocking. He shook it off, focusing on the matter at hand. "What are the chances your emitter is up there?" he asked and nodded up at control tower extending from the bunker.

"Let's go and see," she replied, walking past him grasping her holstered blaster pistols. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of the sway of her hips before shaking his head clear. _Stay on the job,_ he thought to himself.

The door to the bunker buzzed open and three more Pyke Sentinels emerged firing their blasters down the walk way. Sin spun to the side and dropped to a knee as she drew her blasters and fired the guards struggled to navigate their lines of fire on the crowded walkway. Sin shot one down that tumbled off the walkway to the rocky ground below. Sin ducked and rolled aside to avoid the bolts zipping past her by mere inches before both remaining guards were suddenly shot down. Jaster stood at the corner of the walkway shooting with a discarded blaster rifle from one of a dispatched sentinel.

"Go," he motioned with the leveled blaster for Sin to advance, catching slight hesitation and suspicion in her dark blue eyes. Jaster followed from behind as they approached the open door.

She entered first with Jaster close behind. More sentinels were set surrounding the lift shaft in the center of the bunker. Jaster and Sin shot quickly attempting to dominate the fire fight. Blaster bolts of red concentrated energy blazed across the bunker. Sin found crates for cover from where she would pick her shots dropping guards as they charged at them.

Jaster pressed forward, drawing on deeply rooted tactical training as he moved and fired with the clunky blaster rifle. He rounded the lift shaft and two sentinels spun in response. Jaster dropped the first with a center mass shot but the second at close distance managed to let off a shot. Jaster let out a cry and dropped to a knee from the punch of the blast glancing his side. Sin jumped from her cover and shot down the remaining guard with a precise pair to the head.

She looked down at Jaster, still grunting from the pain of the bolt's impact, a new burn hole in his cape exposing a small blast point on his armor underneath. He stood up clutching his side, still grumbling curses. "Pretty resilient," Sin said.

"Its nothing, lets go." They moved into the lift and pressed the control to go up. The door closed and they felt the pod shoot up the shaft.

"Remember, they're no good to us dead," Sin said as she checked the power cell level on her blasters.

"Leave one alive to talk, got it," Jaster replied.

"Just make sure its someone we can actually understand," she added with a grin. Jaster glanced at her. She had an energy about her he didn't quite understand. She seemed to enjoy it all as if the running and gunning was fun to her. He was annoyed by it. All of this stopped being fun the day Jango died. But it wasn't a normal annoyance like what he had felt before, this was foreign to him.

The doors to the lift opened and Jaster found himself faced by another sentinel. Sin shot it down, giving Jaster space to engage. Both were extra careful, picking their shots but still dropping their targets with precision. In the close quarters of the control tower, Jaster charged up on a guard, kicking in the midriff before slamming the butt of the rifle down on the keeled over form. Jaster scanned about the room down the iron sights of the blaster rifle and found the form of a figure a different shape and size from the rest of the guards.

The alien had a thin frame and a small sick green skinned face. The Pyke leveled a long thin blaster pistol and fired at Jaster with haphazard aim. Jaster dodged the blaster fire and vaulted over a control terminal, tackling the Pyke to the ground. As abruptly as it had started, the blaster fire died away. Jaster stood over the Pyke, quivering under the muzzle of the blaster rifle. Acidic yellow saliva dripped from the spouts on her face.

"The lock on my ship, how do I get it off?" Jaster growled.

"W-what?" Gyoot Soa stammered, shielding her head from the blaster.

"The remote lock! Tell me how to get rid of it!"

"I-I don't know." The saliva dripped more intensely.

"Can't do it from here," Sintas called out from a terminal, the blue glow of the screen scrolling on her face. "The central lock transmitter is somewhere else."

Jaster turned back to Gyoot. "You know what she's talking about? Where is it?"

Gyoot shook her head. "Its not ours."

"What do you mean its not yours? Who's is it?"

"Crimson Dawn's Mandalorian," she stammered. The saliva dripped faster than before.

Jaster glared at the Pyke. "Hos. Where is he?"

Gyoot winced and clamped her lips together.

"Where is he? Talk!" Jaster growled setting the blaster's muzzle on the Pyke's knee cap. The saliva now pooled on the floor. Jaster's finger wrapped around the trigger with only a mere inch of pull left required to fire.

"I got it," Sin called out from behind, her eyes still on the screen of the terminal. "The Mandalorian has a ship at landing site 0-6. It looks like a speeder left here an hour and half ago for the site. It's gotta be him," she shrugged. The Pyke stared at Jaster with apprehension in her glowing violet eyes. He suddenly felt became very aware that his finger was still on the trigger. In his mind a chilling voice whispered in his ear, a voice from his past - her voice. _Do it, Boba. _Jaster could almost picture the pale gaunt face, her thin black lips inching close to his ear. Jaster redirected his aim.

Sin felt a tiny twitch of her eye from the sound of the blaster shot. The shot itself was not what caused her to flinch, killing was nothing new. It was the motive of the kill.

Jaster turned and started for the lift in the center of the control room. "Let's go."

"Did you have to kill her?" Sin asked.

"The dead don't talk."


	15. Chapter 15 - You're A Nobody

Chapter 15

YOU'RE A NOBODY

Landing Site-06 was a hollowed out cave beneath the rim of a massive sinkhole refitted for docking larger ships merely kilometers away from the major mine operations unlike the landing pads established out in the open where Jaster's Slave 1 was landed. It made sense that the more diplomatic side of the Pyke's operation was ferried from the enclosed location, a measure to allow for safer and more anonymous transit of the syndicate's officials and their illustrious associates and guests.

With the speeder stashed by a stack of crates at the edge of the platform set just outside of the cave, it was still available for a quick getaway, yet unassumingly hidden in plain sight. Sin had suggested for him to remain with Slave 1 and wait for her to disrupt the lock transmitter in order for him to provide the getaway with the ship. Jaster refused.

Casually walking down the platform into the hangar bay cave, he kept his anticipation in check. Hos Brenth had taken two things away from him that day and Jaster was going to tear them back from his clutches personally. Besides freeing Slave 1, he was looking forward to being able to ditch the Sentinel's blaster rifle he had picked up to use as a weapon for his own Westar 34s.

Sin walked beside him, disguised in the same uniform of the Pyke Sentinels as he was. The heavily padded uniform was extra bulky on him being worn over his Beskar chestplate concealed under his tan cape. As they walked down the platform into the cave, Jaster rolled his shoulders with some difficulty to test his range of motion. Three landing pads deep into the cave, they spotted their target.

Nothing about the ship other than the size was impressive. The hull was long and boxed with a rounded out underbelly. At the flat bow of the ship was a large domed oculus.

"Not very fancy for a Crimson Dawn guy," Sin mused.

"Mandalorians only go for what's practical," Jaster muttered back.

"What do you think, entry ramp?" she inquired.

Jaster looked up at the ramp extending to the entry on the side of the boxy hull occupied by two identically dressed guards. "No, there's got to be another way in." Jaster scanned about the relatively flat surface of the hull for a clue. As they approached the stern of the ship, he spotted rungs of a ladder climbing to the top. "There, the ladder. Maybe their's an access port." He veered closer to the ship and Sin followed.

A staircase led up to a walkway that hugged against the hull. They climbed it, careful not to look too eager by their pace. Jaster reached the bottom rung and slung his rifle to climb. The ladder carried him forty feet from the platform. He and Sin reached the top and made their way back down towards the bow of the ship. One fourth down the length of the hull, they approached a sealed hatch at their feet.

"An emergency exit, can you get in?" Jaster asked.

Sin rounded to the other side where an interface port was installed. She drew a hand held datapad from her belt from under her guard's uniform. Sin drew a cable from the device with a plug on the end. Jaster barely heard her mumble something about hoping she had a compatible plug. With the connection made, her datapad's screen glowed to life as she sliced the security system. With a series of beeps, the access port's doors opened.

"Can I get in," she mocked back at Jaster with a snide tone before jumping inside. Jaster followed after her, dangling from the lip of the port before releasing and dropping to the deck below with a hard clang. The area was dark, poorly illuminated by the glow of the overhead lights in the roof of the cave. Jaster removed the box headed mask of the uniform along with the rest of the heavy padding.

"You don't think these are worth keeping?" Sin inquired as she stripped.

"No guarantee that these guards patrol this ship. Besides, I can barely move in all of this." Sin moved to the door and worked with her data pad on the control console. Another series of beeps and the door opened. One behind the other, they moved through the door, with blasters at the ready. The maintenance room beyond the door was dark and empty with only the lights of the mechanics systems blinking on and off.

"Could your lock transmitter be in here?" Jaster asked.

"I doubt it. These are just the ship's systems." She approached a specific terminal screen for a loud bulk of machinery located in the middle of the room. "But this should help pinpoint where we are going." Sin worked the controls, hitting a single button to awaken the display screen. She studied the diagram before tapping the screen with her fingernail. "There."

Jaster peered over her shoulder. "What?"

"This is the power regulator, it controls and routes the power flow throughout the ship. These units here," she indicated a specific column on the display of various level sliders, each designated to a specific component of the ship. "These are the ships primary systems; engines, shields, weapons, life support, coms. The rest are auxiliary power routes. This one here," she tapped her fingernail again. "This level is too high for any normal security room, especially for this system which is total chizk. It shouldn't need this much power."

"So you know where to go then?" Jaster asked.

"Got a pretty good idea."

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes, tops."

"Good. Get my ship free, meet back here."

Sin frowned and turned to Jaster. "Uh, where are you going?"

Jaster moved to the exit and opened it with a simple press of a button on the control. "Getting back what's mine." Before Sin could protest further, Jaster was already moving down the hallway, her hushed voice barely audible over the hum of the maintenance room.

As he continued through the wide open hallways of the ship, his fingers flexed around the grips of the blaster rifle. Again his Westars came to mind and slowly as he progressed, another thought sounded in his ear. _This is stupid_, he thought. _I'm risking this entire job over two old blaster pistols. Is it even worth it? _

The hallway came to a fork continuing in two different directions bending around a bulkhead. Jaster paused at the apex. _Finish the job, get rich, buy a new blaster – be practical. _The thought came to him, almost as a transmission to his feet to turn back, but he stayed.

As he pictured his Westars, a flood of memories came to mind. A broad shouldered warrior clad in silver Beskar adorned over a dark blue flightsuit drenched in a downpour of rain from a never ending stormy sky – the Westars, bright and polished in his gloved hands as the fierce black 'T' on the helmet stared him down. As the image lingered before his mind's eye, it warped and shifted. The Beskar remained in place but the silver armor of the first figure darkened into shades of black and red. The Westars in the hands of this new figure grew old and weathered.

Jaster hated it. The mere thought of Jango's Westars in Hos' possession heated his blood and turned his hands to fists, hungry to lash out and strike. He trudged forward, jogging down the hall when he came to an open door. Yellow tinged lighting bars set along the base of the wall provided a cool glow drawing him inside. The room threw heavy shadows in the corners with only the yellow lighting displaying the items adorned on the wall.

Jaster looked over the weathered and rusted collection of old blasters set on display along with armor vambraces in various conditions and colors, few of which featured ejected blades that were chipped and stained with time. Standing flat against each wall were full sets of Mandalorian armor on display all staring at him. Old books and datapads were displayed on pedestals among other items that Jaster didn't recognize but appeared to be carved from wood. All the more unsettling to him was the banner hung on one of the walls illuminated by the bar. The banner's black fabric was torn and tattered yet the striking red jagged claw mark emblem of Death Watch was unmistakable.

The silence of the room was shattered by an all to familiar ring of blaster fire. Jaster felt as if his hand was torn off as the blaster rifle at his side exploded with sparks and was ripped from his grip. Stumbling from the momentum and clutching his right hand, Jaster cursed and struggled to regain his balance, finally turning around once he did.

Hos stood in the doorway, a smoking Westar 34 in his grip. "Five inches down the receiver and the tibanna gas would have gone up and your hand would be vaporized." He lifted the blaster off his target, holding it before the 'T' of his helmeted face in admiration. "The accuracy of these beauties." Jaster glared at Hos, still grumbling from the pain in his gloved hand which felt sprained and out of place. "I'm glad you found this," Hos indicated with his hand at the shrine surrounding them. "Icons and artifacts of my people. "Tell me, what do you think?"

Jaster heaved heavy breaths of rage as he fixed his eyes on his blasters in Hos' position.

"This all must mean something to you," Hos continued. "First the name that you go by, then these pistols and now, the Beskar." Hos pointed to Jaster's chest plate. "I'll ask you again, who are you?"

"I already told you," Jaster growled.

"A name is merely the beginning of an identity. It's the story behind it that defines it. A name like 'Jaster Mereel' I'm sure has a story that I want to know."

"You're going to be disappointed." Jaster stood up, regaining his focus. "Now give me those."

Hos chuckled as he slid the pistol into his holster. "Come, take them from me."

Jaster drew on all his rage, launching himself at Hos in a powerful tackle. Hos was ready, squaring his broad shoulders and bracing himself for the hit. The impact knocked them both to the floor but Hos flowed with the momentum, kicking Jaster off of him as he rolled on his back and onto his feet. Jaster slammed his back hard on the wall of the hallway but rolled onto his stomach to push back onto his feet. Face to face, Jaster struck with his hands, elbows and knees only to be parried and blocked blow for blow by his opponent.

"Var'yeh Sel, good. The first combative form taught at childhood. Your form is clean. You've fought like this all your life," Hos observed. "So you were trained by a Manda – tell me who!" The attacks picked up in intensity, faster than Jaster could block. Hos jabbed powerfully at his sternum with an open palm, pushing Jaster back up against the wall. Jaster regained his footing and squared up again, advancing, throwing a kick which was easily fended off before following through with a quick elbow. The blow threw Hos' head to the side as he stumbled back.

He laughed as he repositioned himself. "Kandosi," he complimented. Jaster made his move with a left hook, careful to minimize the strain he put on his injured right hand. Hos blocked with ease, quickly securing Jaster's right wrist with his other hand then following through with a headbutt. Jaster crashed and slumped against the wall, feeling blood start to trickle from the reopened gash on his head.

Still dazed, Jaster kicked out trying to sweep Hos' legs. With a smirk behind his helmet, Hos kicked back directly at Jaster's leg; the young bounty hunter's shin hit hard on his Beskar shin plate. Jaster grunted from the pain and attempted to roll away and gain space from his opponent.

He was toying with him. Already Hos had had plenty of opportunities to finish him off. For whatever reason, Hos was holding back. Jaster wondered how much longer that would last. He stumbled to his feet, still feeling dazed.

Hos closed in but Jaster swung first, a tired left hook easily caught in Hos' large hand followed by a series of punches of his own. The first punch broke his nose, and each following battered the face under his fist. Hos' moves lost all sense of form or flow, instead throwing every strike with sheer brute-like strength.

He grappled Jaster and threw him into the wall, stooping down and lifting him to his feet only to throw him again to the other side with, not releasing Jaster's cape in time. The cape's corner tore free from its fastener, entirely exposing the green beskar chest piece underneath.

"Guess I was wrong," Hos scoffed. "You were right, I am disappointed. You're a nobody after all." Jaster writhed on the floor, spitting out blood. He was blinded by his blood, his face tender and almost numb from the beating. His hearing was muffled and distant as if he was slipping away into a void of silent darkness.

The sound of a blaster was barely heard, tightening the grip of Jaster's consciousness. His vision still hazy and red, He barely saw the silhouette of a figure stooping down to his side.


	16. Chapter 16 - Complications

Chapter 16

Complications

The sound of the speeder's engines faded into Jaster's cognitiance followed by the sound of his own breathing. Lifting his heavy head caused him to groan as he sat up in the passenger seat of the speeder. He brought heavily padded gloved hands up to his head where he felt the helmet over his face. He pulled it off, feeling a slight sting on his bruised and battered face from the coolness of the breeze of the air speeder. Sin sat at the pilot's seat, still in her guard's disguise.

"Good, you're up. Do you have any idea how hard it was carrying your sheb out of that ship?"

"Where are we?" Jaster groaned with puffy, split lips.

"Going back to your ship," she said.

Jaster struggled to catch up. "My ship? Right, my ship," he mumbled. His focus zeroed in as he became more and more aware. "Hos," he said abruptly. "What happened to H-"

"I got him," Sin cut in. "I disrupted the lock transmitter too. We need to get to that lock before they reestablish the connection again." The speeder approached the bunker control tower and Sin rounded to the landing pads in the back. "Put your helmet back on," she ordered. Jaster was too tired and sore to argue as he obeyed. Sin set the speeder down at the same landing pad as before as she cautiously scanned about for signs of more guards. She was the first to jump out with Jaster slowly climbing over the edge, stumbling on weak legs. By the time he made it to the landing pad where his Slave 1 had remained in wait, Sin was already prying the lock off of the entry console. Jaster paused before moving to the side of the ship. He approached the wing strut shroud and found the droid head he had stashed underneath. Jaster made his way back to the ramp where Sin stood in wait.

"Good, you still have it." Without a word, he stepped up to the console and keyed in the combination. The hatch folded open and he stumbled inside. Sin followed as he removed the guard's uniform and crawled through the hatches to the cockpit module. Jaster climbed into the pilot's seat and she took the passenger's seat at his side with the droids head rested on the seat opposite his. Jaster worked the controls and Slave 1 lifted from the landing pad, righting itself up before flying off away from the landing site and through the soup of orange clouds into space.

"Where are we going?" Sin asked.

"Who would have the equipment you need?"

"We need an analysis survey processor with a compatible interface. Any intelligence analytic location would do. You know, I bet any Imperial base would have one," she explained. "Let me see the droid head."

"No," Jaster snapped.

Sin frowned. "What? Let me see it."

"You're not taking the droid," he said as the ship emerged through the atmosphere.

"If I wanted to rip the droid off from you, I'd have done it already," she laughed awkwardly.

"Look, It's nothing personal. I don't trust anyone."

Sin sat back watching him closely. "Probably a smart move in our work," she shrugged. "But we're going to be working this job together, maybe we should start. Besides, I already saved your life," she added with a smug smile.

"What makes you think we're working together?"

"I'm not slicing the droid for free. I bet you don't have the credits to pay me now so I'm getting a cut for the bounty."

Jaster glanced to where she sat in the passenger seat. His cut lip curled. He couldn't find any other way out. "Fine," he sighed, too tired to argue.

"Good," she smiled again. Jaster rubbed his eyes. Was he really that tired, or was she not as annoying to him as before? Either way, he couldn't escape the fact that she was right, he had been as good as dead against Hos.

Jaster sighed again as he formulated the words he wanted to say in his mind. "Look," he paused feeling resistance from his mouth to form the words. "Uh, I uh, I appreciate, uh, your coming back… and not, uh, letting me die."

A grin spread on Sin's face as she stared him down. "What was that?" she laughed.

"What do you mean, _what was that_?" Jaster snapped.

"Have you never thanked anyone before?"

"I haven't had many people to thank."

His bitterness caught her off guard. "No one? Not even a family? Mum, dad, sister, brother?"

Jaster ignored her looking out to the swirl of gaseous fog ahead while she stared at him in wait. He set the external sensors on high alert to help him from colliding into anything solid. Autopilot would have been a much safer and easier option but he did anything to look busy.

"You don't talk too much, do you?" Sin asked.

"Its complicated," he muttered.

"No its not. Just ask me a question," Sin quipped. "Look either you learn how to talk, or its going to be a real long, quiet flight." Jaster her way to catch the waiting look on her face. It was relentless. He felt trapped in his own ship, a thought that he found annoying but also a little amusing.

"Where you from?" He asked half-heartedly.

"Kiffu. You?" She replied without pause. Jaster hesitated, again formulating in his mind what to say. "Oh come on, this is an easy one. One word answer!"

"You didn't give me time to answer."

"What time?" She laughed.

"I'm thinking."

"What's to think about? It's one place!"

"Its complicated," he said again.

"Where you grew up, where you were born, where your mum and dad live," she rattled off.

"I said, its complicated!"

She eyed him closely. "You're not very good at this."

"I was raised by bounty hunters, what do you expect?"

"So was I, that's not a good excuse," she said.

Jaster looked her way again, seeing the determined look in her eye. What was she so interested about? He could see that she wasn't about to let this go but he was growing desperate to change the subject. "What kind of name is 'Sin'?"

"Its only part of a name. Its short for Sintas Vel." She paused and grinned. "What's your name? I just realized that I never asked you."

He hesitated. "Jaster."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"What do you mean, _really_?"

"That's not your name," she grinned.

"Says who?"

"You, your eyes. You can tell. Nobody ever said so before because they probably just didn't care."

Again, she was right. Looking back, Bossk and Hondo knew him from his past. Qi'ra and Hos were both agents of Crimson Dawn – true identities were rare in the underworld. "Call me whatever you like, but that's what I got," he said.

"No its not."

He looked back to where she sat, where he used to sit. Then his gaze drifted over to Slave 1's controls, where Jango used to sit. The pilot's seat and the controls all felt natural to him, all within reach unlike the times he sat in it as a nine year-old boy. But now it was a good fit.

"The man that told me to call him dad, he called me Boba," he said.

"Boba," Sin echoed. "Yep, there it is," she smiled.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No. That's it, I can tell. What? You think that just because I work with droids and computers I don't work well with people?" she quipped smugly. "So what, you were adopted?"

"Something like that."

"By who?"

"His name was Jango."

"Jango? Jango Fett?" she asked with excitement.

"So you know of him?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "See, what's so complicated about that? 

He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted. The ship shook and alarms blared. "What was that?"

He checked the systems reading on the control console. "Something hit us. Hyperdrive motivator's been jarred," he announced while activating the deflector shields.

"I'll take a look." Sin jumped from her seat and made her way to the ladder from behind. The controls beeped, calling his attention. The yellow light of an incoming transmission blinked on the console. He pressed the button, not sure whom to expect.

"It's a nice ship you got there," the chilling guttural voice spoke through the speaker grill.

"Cad Bane," he growled.

"Consider yourself lucky, boy. I only knocked out your hyperdrive. I've killed for a lot less. But now you won't be much competition anymore so, I'll be bidding you a farewell now."

"What, not going to finish me off yourself?"

"Oh you'll be plenty busy in a moment," Bane sneered. "So long."

Through the windshield the pair of another ship's sublight engines burned in the midst of the gas cloud. Their orange glow intensified then with a pop and a flash, they were gone. The communication cut to static before Sin's voice came through.

"I found the problem, easy fix," she said over the intercom.

Through the gas cloud, a shape started to form and close in. A pointed nose breached the cloud as the wedge shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer emerged through the smog.


	17. Chapter 17 - Returning the Favor

Chapter 17

Returning the Favor

Slave 1 was already caught in the tractor beam. The oddly shaped Firespray Patroller was miniscule compared to the massive, straight edged dagger shape of the Star Destroyer. The patroller was pulled under the pointed nose of the behemoth warship and continued to drift under the shadow of its underside. Before long, the ship was pulled underneath to the large, brightly lit hangar well. Slave 1 righted itself to its landing position, laying on its back as it was pulled by the tractor beam off to the side into one of the dozens of hangar bays encircling the well.

The patroller settled with a gentle clunk on the polished black floor. Amongst the pristine, functional shapes of the TIE fighters which hung from deployment braces along the ceiling of the hangar, Slave 1 with its worn plating, weathered paint job, carbon scoring and grime from planetary elements stuck out like a red flag. Already on the floor, waiting for the ship to fully land, Chief Petty Officer Kobb Jolviss stood rigid in his black double breasted uniform flanked by two other men in light grey fatigues. At their feet was a large crate full of scanning and inspection equipment. Jolviss had been through this procedure plenty of times. At this point, he was sure nothing could surprise him. However, standing by only feet away from him were three Stormtroopers clad head to toe in polished white plastoid armor armed with E-11 blaster rifles just in case anything did.

Hearing a beep from the C1 communicator on his belt, he retrieved it.

"The ship is not registered," the Dock commander's voice informed him. "I want you to question the crew and scan it for any contraband then get it registered in our system, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Jolviss replied then replaced the commlink on his belt. The hatch remained closed. With a wave, he beckoned two Stormtroopers to his flank as he stepped up the ramp. His finger was inches from the control before the hatch hissed and opened. Jolviss stepped back down the ramp as the hatch folded open and a woman stood in the entry.

Already three months into their Outer-rim patrol deployment on the Star Destroyer, Jolviss found it hard not to look up and down the attractive, young woman. Despite her toned, slender build, her boots fell heavily down the ramp weighted with attitude.

"What is this about?" She demanded, throwing her arms from her hips.

"This is merely a routine inspection, madame," Jolviss said stiffly. "Standard procedure for all unregistered craft. Now, your name?" Jolviss pulled a data pad from his belt, ready to input her information. She eyed the device apprehensively before answering.

"Sin," she paused then said the first name that came to mind. "Fett. Sin Fett."

"Well, Miss, is there anyone else on board?" Jolviss asked, clearly going through the motion.

"No."

"And what is the purpose of your visit here on Kessel?"

"Business," Sin said stiffly.

"What kind of business?" Jolviss was losing patience. Sin glowered up at him. "Is there a reason why you are not cooperating?" he inquired.

"Yeah. I don't like your face."

Jolviss rolled his eyes. "We will detain you and scan your ship if you don't cooperate."

"You can't do that," Sin exclaimed.

"See for yourself. Troopers," he called out to the Stormtroopers on post whom stepped up with their blasters at the ready. "Take her to the brig." Amidst Sin's protests, one of the troopers acknowledged while the other slapped a pair of handcuffs on Sin's wrists. As her curses and grunts faded behind him through the passageway leading deeper into the superstructure of the ship, he finished inputting the information in his datapad then turned to the scanning crew at his side. "I want this ship thoroughly checked. Spice, coaxium, weapons, credits, anything."

"Yes Sir." The scanning crew nodded then hefted the crate up Slave 1's ramp. Behind them, another Stormtrooper followed while two more posted at the foot of the ramp.

Jaster heard their boots clanging on the deck of his ship, counting them in his head as he sat in complete darkness. The maintenance crawlspace in the tail of the ship was a much snugger fit than when he was a nine year old boy. As he had scooted down the shaft, he realized why both Cad Bane's ship and the Star Destroyer was able to sneak up on him. Slave 1's entire scanner network mainframe was malfunctioning which misfired all of the ships diagnostic systems. Sitting in a cave for nearly a decade was far more damaging to the ship than he originally thought.

Jaster risked inching the hatch open for a peek. The scanning crew wouldn't start just yet. If they were following standard operating procedures, they would do a walk about first to ensure there were no hostiles. Though the image of the Galactic Empire had changed, it still followed under the same SOP as the Clones of the Grand Army of the Republic. As he peeked through the cracked open hatch, he saw a man in grey fatigues crawling on hands and feet through the hatch into the next hold.

Left alone in the main hold was a single figure clad in white armor, the Stormtrooper. Jaster felt his heart beat harder in his chest. Not now, he couldn't freeze up now. He pushed on, willing himself to push the hatch open further while the trooper's back was still turned. Jaster pulled himself to the hatch, squeezing his legs out in front to gently push himself free. Jaster's boots clanged on the deck of the ship from the six foot drop.

"What the," the Trooper exclaimed as he turned around with his blaster rifle already leveled. Instinct took over as Jaster took a wide step to close the gap. With one hand he grasped the end of the barrel and pulled it down, following through with an elbow cross to the side of the trooper's helmet. The trooper stumbled back a step but recovered quickly still firmly grasping his blaster. Jaster grabbed the barrel with both hands, trying to wrench it from the trooper's grip but the trooper was stronger. He tugged back, ripping it from Jaster's hands. In a panic, Jaster threw a knee into the trooper's abdomen and seized the blaster again.

With a growl, the trooper dropped his shoulder and plowed Jaster into the bulwark of the ship's hold with a loud clash. With his prey pinned, the trooper threw a left cross of his own, striking Jaster's jaw.

Dazed by the blow he struggled to focus, managing to seize the trooper's extended arm with one hand and the blaster's hand with the other. As hard as he could he drove his knee into the trooper's midriff again, keeling the trooper over then followed through with a second knee strike to the helmet. The blow was enough to send both the trooper and Jaster to the floor with another loud clang.

While on top, Jaster wrestled for the blaster rifle. Still putting up a fight, the trooper wrestled back, grunting angrily from behind the scowling face structure of the helmet. Jaster reeled back and punched down hard on the slim opening he had between the chestplate and the atmosphere filter just under the wearer's chin to the throat covered only by a black, vacuum sealed body glove. The trooper keeled and gasped for air, finally releasing the blaster.

Jaster scooped it up and thumbed the fire selector to stun before pulling the trigger. The ray of blue energy washed over the gagging trooper and almost instantly he fell limp and silent.

Out of breath, Jaster stood up. He had to move quickly and considered himself lucky that the scanning crew must have been busy at their job and didn't hear the commotion from the main hold. Stunning the trooper was his best bet to keep from drawing any more attention.

Kneeling beside the stunned trooper, he looked down on the helmeted face, forcing himself to do what he needed to do. With slight hesitation, he slid the helmet free. He felt as if his blood began to flow smoothly through his veins once again as the unconscious man's dark complexion with smooth features was exposed. So it was true, the clones were gone. As he knelt beside the unconscious trooper, taking the time that he knew he didn't have, he couldn't decide how to feel. Jango's army wasn't around to haunt him, yet at the same time, Jango's army – Jango's legacy was gone.

Something welled up inside him that he just couldn't pinpoint. It felt like pain, but it didn't hurt. It also felt like joy, but it didn't bring him peace. Jaster shook his mind clear, getting a grip on his focus once again. At this point his options were severely limited.

One plate at a time, Jaster removed the armor pieces then stripped the black body glove off of the trooper. He removed his own grey flightsuit and replaced it with the formfitting body glove then reapplied the white armor plating. On the floor, the half-naked trooper stirred in his state of unconsciousness. Jaster pointed the E-11 blaster rifle at him then fired another blue ray of stun energy for good measure. He flopped the man onto his stomach then with a set of wrist binders from the utility belt, secured his hands behind his back.

Jaster hefted the man onto his shoulder before stuffing him in the maintenance crawlspace where he had hid before. Now his time was short. The Scanning crew would be in the main hold anytime now and would no doubt sense his lifesigns with their equipment. It wouldn't take them long to figure out the trooper was one of them.

Off in the corner was Sin's vest and double blaster rig. Jaster moved them aside to retrieve the droid head buried underneath.

Brushing his hair out of his face, Jaster put on the helmet before dipping out Slave 1's hatch. The first few moments inside the helmet was a nightmare. Visual projectors replaced normal lenses, providing an entirely video feed for his vision. As he scanned about, schematics and technical readouts popped up in the corners of his field of vision. The image seemed to flare as he stepped out of the ship. The hangar bay's sterile, polished black surface seemed to glow by the brilliance of the lighting from overhead. The HUD system quickly adjusted its exposure level.

Only two other Stormtroopers stood at post near the foot of Slave 1's ramp. Jaster started across the glossy black floor to the passage.

"Hey," an electronically projected voice called out from behind. Jaster turned to find one of the troopers looking right at him. "Any idea how much longer they'll be in there?"

Jaster could tell by the trooper's tone he didn't suspect anything. "Hard to say. They just started," he replied.

Jaster started to turn again but was caught off guard by a sudden laugh from the trooper. "You know, you remind me a bit of my training sergeant." Jaster didn't know what to think.

He shrugged and continued to the passageway. "How about that," he said before turning back around and disappearing around the corner.

The longer he wore the helmet, the faster he got used to its interface. Using voice commands only he could hear, he pulled up a directory for the Star Destroyer on his HUD. He found the brig among the preprogrammed directional system. A small map appeared in the bottom corner of his HUD with an arrow indicating the direction to go.

Jaster followed it, moving briskly while trying to not look eager. He followed the arrow down the passageway to a row of protruding shafts set in the bulwark. Jaster approached the lift on the far left as the arrow instructed. He pressed the call button. With a hiss, the semicircular door slid aside. Two men dressed in the black double breasted uniforms of enlisted Imperial Navy personnel stepped out into the wide hallway, paying him no mind.

Jaster took their place and stood in the lift, looking over the controls set in the wall by the open door. The column of buttons were simply designated by deck numbers ranging from twenty to thirty. The HUD system flashed a prompt underneath the mini map as if it knew where he needed to go next. Following the prompt, Jaster selected deck thirty. The door hissed closed and after a brief transit, hissed open again to a mundanely identical passageway to the one he had just left.

Jaster continued to follow the directions from the HUD, navigating through another set of halls and lifts before the lift door opened to yet another passageway on Deck 67 leading to the brig. He took an almost immediate right turn about to enter but paused, looking down at the droid head still in his hands. He was amazed he hadn't drawn any suspicion with it yet but going into the brig with it certainly would.

He looked over his shoulder to the door across the passageway. His HUD offered a label for the door reading: Janitorial Droid Bay 6-67-E. Jaster peeked inside to the cramped room occupied only by a bipedal dome headed cleaning droid. He stashed the droid head in the corner and drew his E-11 from the sheath on his belt.

As he held the E-11 blaster rifle, he looked it over, refamiliarizing himself with its functions. It followed the same base as the DC-15S issued to the clones in the Clone Wars, even featuring the same folded stock. Jaster extended it from under the barrel to his own preferences.

The door to the brig's security center opened at his approach. Jaster stepped in catching the attention of the noncommissioned officer seated at his station. The grin of a joke that had been told only seconds ago still lingered as he looked up from the terminal in the center of the room at the lone Stormtrooper.

"Are you lost, trooper?" he inquired. Jaster stood by the sealed door scanning the room, spotting the two Imperial Navy troopers in black fatigues standing guard at the opening of a hexagonal hallway lit by dim red lights. As his gaze rested on each of the three guards, names, ranks and duty stations popped up on his HUD. The longer Jaster stood without a response, the more the Chief Petty Officer at the terminal's grin faded.

"The girl," Jaster finally said. "She's wanted up top."

The Chief Petty Officer frowned. "We didn't get that order." He scratched the back of his head just under his cover as he turned back to check the terminal. Jaster made his move, snapping the stock of the E-11 into his shoulder and aiming down range at the Imperial Troopers. The first stun ray hit the left guard before he could reach for his own blaster and the second was dropped just as his blaster cleared its holster. Alarmed, the Chief Petty Officer began to reach for his own blaster but froze as Jaster's muzzle rested on him.

Still aimed down range, he thumbed the fire selector. "This one's not on stun."

"What is this?" the Chief Petty Officer glowered. "Who are you?"

"That's not what you should be concerned with. To the girl's cell, move." Jaster motioned with blaster. The Chief Petty Officer grumbled as he walked with his hands over his head down to the hexagonal hallway.

"The cameras saw everything. You will be stopped in a mere minute."

"I'll be gone before then," Jaster jabbed him with the blaster. The Chief Petty Officer paused at the third cell to the right. "Open it."

The Chief Petty Officer did as he was told. The door to the cell slid up. Jaster pulled the trigger firing another blue ray of energy. The Chief Petty Officer dropped through the narrow entry and crashed hard on the grated metal steps descending into the cell. Jaster stepped through to find Sin standing with her hands on her hips.

"That took longer than I'd have thought."

"Considering I had to fight the trooper wearing this thing, find my way around this ship and take out the guards, I'd say that was pretty good timing."

Sin shrugged and stepped over the unconscious guard. "What next?"

"Put his jacket and cap on," Jaster said as he moved to the door of the cell to stand watch. She did as instructed, considering herself lucky that her boots and dark fatigues looked similar enough to the trousers of the Imperial uniform. Jaster looked over just as she fastened the last clasp of the double breasted tunic. His HUD recognized her as the Chief Petty Officer, a disguise that could only last from a distance. She tucked her long dark hair under the cap as they stepped through the entry. Time was quickly running out and the Chief Petty Officer's threat of a security response team was very real. Briskly the two of them exited the brig and ducked into the janitorial bay just across the passageway.

Sin stood by the door and pressed her ear to it in wait. Jaster felt cramped not only in the Stormtrooper armor but now pinned between the dormant cleaning droid and Sin. Through the door, Sin heard the beat of boots hurriedly clanging on the metal deck of the passageway.

"They're coming."

"Good, give it a moment then we'll sneak past."

Sin smirked his direction. "Smart." The moment passed and they made their move. Together they stepped out into the passageway, Sin walking just a pace ahead to not draw any suspicion with Jaster carrying the droid head.

"Thanks for the rescue."

Jaster hesitated. Accepting gratitude was just as uncommon to him as offering it. Not many people have ever appreciated what he did but that was because he usually only did things for himself.

"You're… welcome." She didn't seem to notice his awkwardness this time.

"Well, lucky this thing came when it did. It saves us a trip," she laughed.

Jaster was instantly reminded about the job. How could he have forgotten? How could he possibly have been so distracted?

"Any idea where we need to go?"

"Got it taken care of," Jaster said. On his HUD, a new arrow on his mini map led them to his selected destination.


	18. Chapter 18 - Security Breach

Chapter 18

Security Breach

The Imperial Intelligence mainframe was located in a surveillance room located deck 77, a lift ride away from the brig. Just as Sin and Jaster approached the door to enter, the alert flashed on the HUD of his stolen Stormtrooper helmet. **Security Breach: Code 17F**.

"They're on to us," he said. He didn't know the emergency code designation. Did they find the Stormtrooper on his ship, or was this just a response to their breakout from the brig?

Sin opened the door and stepped into the surveillance room, a brightly lit trapezoid shaped deck with walls of monitors and control panels. Inside were only three men. The two in all black uniforms similar to Sin's were focused, perusing the monitors intently while the officer in a grey double breasted uniform hovered over their shoulder. The Lieutenant stood up as he eyed her suspiciously, his gaze resting incessantly on her tattooed cheeks and the droid head in her hands.

"Stand at attention," Jaster whispered from behind. Sin glanced over her shoulder with a frown.

"Have you forgotten how to approach an officer, Chief?" the Lieutenant chided. Jaster rolled his eyes from behind his helmet. Maybe he should have given her the Stormtrooper armor and taken the Chief Petty Officer's uniform instead; at least he knew the Imperial customs and courtesies.

He leveled his E-11 and stepped out from behind her, shooting down the Lieutenant with a stun ray. As he rounded on one of the other crewmen, Sin had already seized the other and slammed his head down on the terminal. Jaster stunned the crewman whom dropped slumped over the terminal.

Sin stood by the terminal studying him.

"What?"

"Didn't take you for the stunning type," she said.

"I'm not. Once a blaster goes off in here, the entire Empire will be on top of us."

"You're smarter than you look," she smirked as she tossed the crewman out of the chair. "This shouldn't take long." Jaster stood off by the closed door with the E-11 still ready while he checked on the brief updates linked to his HUD. The search was underway for them and time was quickly slipping by. He knew the rule of thumb, the longer you spent in hostile territory, the more likely you were to being discovered. Jango had taught him that.

"Any ideas on an exit plan?" Sin asked as she worked at the terminal, reworking some of the systems programming.

"No, you?"

A smile grew on Sin's face as the idea expanded in her mind.

"Yeah. On my way to the brig I overheard some technicians. They gave me an idea."

"And?"

"Its mynock-chizk crazy," she jeered. Jaster looked over at her. He was starting to think that she was the one that was crazy. For a moment, he watched her working at the terminal, her fingers flying across the controls as a stream of coding flew by on the monitor. "Got it," she exclaimed. "Now I'll just hook up the droid." Jaster drifted away from the door to the center of the room to watch as she plugged a cable into an interface port on the droid. The door hissed open and he spun back around to find four Stormtroopers stepping inside.

"Corporal, what are…" The trooper's words trailed off. Jaster didn't need to see their eyes to know they just spotted the three unconscious Imperial crewman piled on the deck. He raised his blaster and fired a stun ray at the lead trooper.

The rest leveled their own blasters. "Its them!" As the trooper went down, Jaster lunged forward, throwing himself into the fray. He grabbed hold of the rearmost trooper and threw him into the other two. With steadier footing than Jaster anticipated, one of the troopers shoved the other off of him and leveled his rifle.

Instinct kicked in and Jaster ducked well before two blaster bolts shot overhead. He dropped his E-11 and sprung back up with an uppercut to the trooper's chin. In the same upward motion, he seized under the trooper's arm and around his neck and with as much force as he could muster, he threw him over his back.

One of the troopers retaliated, kicking Jaster in the head while he was still hunched forward from the throw. Jaster dropped hard on the deck in a daze, dizzy but thankful for the helmet on his head. Jaster's hazy vision struggled to see the image projected in his helmet's HUD of the trooper standing over him with his blaster rifle aimed at his head. A shot fired and suddenly the trooper's head was thrown back from the force of a blaster bolt. Jaster groaned and threw the helmet off of his head.

"You're welcome," Sin said as she lowered a blaster pistol she scrounged from one of the unconscious crewman.

"So much for keeping under the radar."

"Hey, they shot first," she said defensively. Jaster joined her at the terminal once his head cleared. "I think I got it." He slouched over her shoulder, his bruised and sweaty face close to hers as he studied the monitor. On the screen, the landing pad outside of the Pyke's mine access on Kessel was distorted by smoke and static. The image panned back and forth, criss-crossed by blaster fire.

"Wait," Jaster panted. Sin paused the feed. "Go back two clicks." The image moved backward, shifting back over the panning motion. Amongst a plume of dirt and rubble in the aftermath of an explosion was the hull of a ship. Its brightly polished plating stuck out amongst the dirt and muck of Kessel. "Go back, see if you can get more of this ship." Sin worked the controls and the image rewound further. The image was no clearer but more of the shape was discernable in the frame. The freighter was relatively flat and circular except for an extension that came to a point at the bow.

"That's got to be it right there," Sin observed.

"Can you ID the ship?"

"The Empire can," she smirked as she took her data pad and plugged it into the terminal. A moment later and she stood and plugged it into another terminal. Her image appeared on a monitor while a stream of other images raffled on the screen beside it. Looking closer, Jaster saw that the images were ship model layouts. Finally the raffling froze on a single profile image. The shape was nearly identical except for the gap between two mandibles on the bow instead of the odd extension from the original image.

"A YT-1300 class Freighter," Sin read. "This one is registered to a Lando Calrissian under the name the Millennium Falcon. Last spotted in the Arkanis Sector. I have the coordinates."


	19. Chapter 19 - Meltdown

Chapter 19

Meltdown

"You're right. This is mynock-chizk crazy."

"Think we can do it?"

"Don't you?" Jaster glanced at the Stormtrooper at his side, picturing a giddy smile on Sin's face behind the Trooper helmet's scowl.

"Don't know. I just want to see it happen."

Jaster sighed, looking back up at the gargantuan bulk of machinery through the glass of the enclosed maintenance walkway. The solar ionization reactor of the Star Destroyer was the beating heart of the ship. Its innerworkings were enclosed in a protective bulb the of alloy as the outer hull and was even protruding along the ventral spine behind the hangar bay well. An entire network of other machinery components branched into the massive reactor that sat below the superstructure of the Star Destroyer.

At first Sin's unique plan of sabotage seemed so stupendous, but then Jaster remembered he himself singlehandedly sabotaged a Republic Venator-Class Star Destroyer when he was only ten. Perhaps her idea wasn't as absurd as he had thought. He studied the reactor, thinking of how best to accomplish her idea. As a kid, it was as easy as shooting up the coolant pump system to the reactor. The innerworkings these days were far more complex and on a larger scale than before but the essence of it all played out the same in his head.

"I got an idea. We're going to need something explosive."

"Like grenades?"

"Stormtroopers don't carry grenades," Jaster said. He then looked down at the E-11 blaster rifle in his hand and an idea sparked in his mind. Jaster unscrewed the endcap at the rear of the barrel assembly. He pulled it free, exposing the glowing pink cartridge of tibanna gas.

* * *

Myratt was young for an Imperial Navy Captain. The ISD Limitless was his pride and joy as an Imperial officer and having a fugitive loose on board angered him. As the technicians and officers under his command worked in the trenches below, scanning and coordinating the search parties while maintaining the functions of the ship, he stood on the walkway. Through the windshield of transparisteel, the swirling blue glow of the hyperspace tunnel was all there was to be seen with the dagger-like hull of the rest of the ship slicing through it. Myratt stared down at the grey hull from the perch of the command tower, searching as if he could peer through the plating to the maze of passageways and the innerworkings of his Star Destroyer.

Myratt felt the deck tremble under his feet as the concussive boom thundered from down below, shaking his rigid posture.

"Status!" he barked.

The responses came from the trenches. "Sir, there's been an explosion in the maintenance levels."

"Heat signatures are spiking, Sir!"

"The core is intact but is overheating! We need to bring it out of hyperspace."

"Do it," Myratt said. "Get some troopers down there. Kill on sight." Moments later and the glowing streaks of the hyperspace tunnel suddenly disappeared to an empty field of stars.

"Sir the reactor is still overheating. The coolant pumps must be down."

Sweat beaded on Myratt's face as he looked down into the trench of bustling technicians in grey fatigues. Protocol, what was the proper protocol? He couldn't remember – nothing came to mind.

"Captain," his Lieutenant Commander called to him. "Might I recommend ejecting the reactor?" With wide eyes, Myratt looked to the officer.

"Yes," he finally said. "Do it." The Lieutenant Commander turned back to the crewmen below.

"Disengage the catastrophic release braces!"

* * *

Jaster's improvised explosive worked better than he would have expected. The tibanna gas cartridge alone was highly combustible, but added with an unhealthy amount of spare powerpacks from the compartments in the utility belt and the knee of the armor made for a devastating IED. But now as he hunkered down behind what little cover he could find on the platform, he regretted having to sacrifice his blaster rifle he had stripped down for the gas cartridge.

Sin emerged from her cover and fired up at a distant walkway where a detachment of Stormtroopers rained down blaster fire on them. Flames from their IED still roared and lashed out at other components of the maintenance bay. Red lights flashed violently along with a howling siren that echoed in the bay. On their HUDs, security alerts popped up in the corner of their vision along with status updates of the ship.

"It worked!" Sin exclaimed. "We're out of hyperspace."

"No we need to get out of here," Jaster grumbled.

"Got it covered. Take this." She handed him her E-11. Jaster took it and extended the stock before shouldering the rifle and shooting down one of the Stormtroopers from the upper walkway. With a wail, he tumbled down to the deck far below. Sin moved to the edge of the walkway and from a compartment on her belt, extracted a grappling line. She secured the hook around a suitable anchor point then did the same for Jaster while he suppressed the Stormtrooper's onslaught.

"What are you –"

"Just follow my lead," she beckoned as she lowered herself from the edge. Sin let go from the platform, dropping for a short length before the wire went taut. Jaster fired another suppressive burst before jumping over the edge. His drop was longer before the wire caught. He dangled and swung freely from the platform while Sin steadily lowered herself on the wire's reel. Jaster worked the control on his belt, lowering himself down as well, still swinging. What he wouldn't have given for a jetpack at that moment. They continued to duck, dodge and avoid blaster fire as they descended further.

Suddenly another alarm joined in dischordant harmony with the howling siren. The entire bay seemed to rumble and shake. Looking down, Jaster and Sin saw the bottom of the fifty-deck tall maintenance bay, the very bottom deck of the entire ship where the bottom hemisphere of the bulb encasing the reactor core was partially submerged. The deck around the edge of the bulb retracted, widening the cavity in which the bulb sat. A ring of propulsion jets fired up into the bay jettisoning the reactor from the Star Destroyer.

Still dangling and descending to the bottom deck, Jaster and Sin were tossed about violently by the sudden burst of the jets. Massive connection ports spewed flame and steam as the reactor dropped out of place. Sin could hardly believe that the procedure was a safety measure as the entire bay erupted in heat, steam and chaos. Nonetheless, she loved every minute of it. Jaster heard her laughs of glee in his ear through the commlink of the helmet. He couldn't help but smile too; no doubt the Empire could hear her too.

With the reactor ejected from the maintenance bay, it was merely a massive empty cavern of machinery and walkways. A gargantuan cavity was left in the bottom deck of the bay with only a glowing energy shield separating them from the visible vacuum of space, the reactor slowly drifting farther and farther away from the ship.

"Okay, that was pretty cool," Jaster said as their feet touched the bottom deck only feet away from the edge of the energy shield.

Sin took lead again, running across to a maintenance hatch in the wall. "In here. It's a straight shot to the hangar." They both ducked inside to the dark, cramped tunnel too short to stand at full height in. Sin lead them by the directions from the HUD of her helmet. They turned a corner then suddenly everything went black.

"What the?" Sin's voice was muffled and distant. Jaster removed his helmet. The dim red lighting of the tunnel relieved him from the complete darkness inside of his helmet.

He tapped Sin's shoulder before helping her remove her helmet. "They shut down our HUDs."

"Took them long enough," she scoffed as she continued down the tunnel. Jaster followed behind slightly amused. Nothing seemed to faze her. They came to a niche in the tunnel wall with a sparsely lit shaft overhead stretching up the decks. Sin pressed a control and the maintenance lift carried them up the shaft back to the tenth level of the ship. They continued through the tunnel till they came to another maintenance hatch.

Sin peeked out of the entry before beckoning for Jaster to follow. He watched their back with the E-11 leveled down the passageway. The entry to the hangar was wide open. She peeked around the corner to find Slave 1 sitting in wait guarded by two Stormtroopers.

Jaster heard the clanging of boots from behind. "We need to move." He emerged from around the corner with the E-11 already leveled and opened fire. The Stormtroopers returned fire but Jaster's shots easily found their mark. Jaster ran up Slave 1's ramp with Sin just behind him. Blaster fire rang from behind, peppering the entry of Slave 1.

Jaster felt the impact of the bolt on his shoulder, spinning him around onto his back just in time to see Sin get struck in the back. With a wail, she went down just before reaching the entry hatch. Without any hesitation Jaster retrieved the E-11, spraying blasterbolts across the hangar as he scooped Sin around the waist and carried her into the main hold. He punched the hatch controls sealing it behind him and set her down before crawling to the cockpit. Jaster climbed into the pilot's chair and brought the ship to life. Still under fire, Slave 1 lifted off the hangar deck, drifted through the airlock and gunned out from under the Star Destroyer.

Jaster winced and grunted as he punched in the coordinates for a hyperspace jump. He rubbed at the carbon scored shoulder plate of the armor as he stood up from the seat and climbed down the ladder to the hold. Still laying on the deck of the hold, Sin stirred- she was alive. Jaster sighed with a grin. He picked her up and carried her to a bunk. For some reason, he was relieved she was still breathing.


	20. Chapter 20 - What the Heart Wants

Chapter 20

What the Heart Wants

In the dark of Qi'ra's chamber a dim light flashed on the holo projector. She answered it without even checking the communication code. "Yes?"

The life-sized hazy blue hologram of a helmeted figure stood before her. "Hello, Qi'ra."

She didn't know him but knew the Mandalorian 'T' shaped visor of his helmet well enough. Her emerald eyes narrowed before recognizing the voice. "Jaster Mereel, isn't it? Do you have an update?" She tried to syphon her strength and hide her anxiety, her desperation.

"I've identified Beckett's ship and I know where to find his crew."

"And where is that?" Qi'ra asked. Her mask of confidence shook ever so slightly. She wasn't sure whether or not she really wanted to know.

"Tatooine," Jaster said flatly. "I will have them in a matter of hours."

She believed him. "Good," she quivered.

"Have my payment ready."

Qi'ra nodded affirmatively. Her hand shot out impulsively to the control pad and the hologram fizzled out, taking its light with it and submerging her in darkness once again. She felt as if she was choking as her heart pounded hard and loud in her chest.

A chill ran down her spine as a cold voice not much louder than a whisper froze the blood in her veins. "So your bounty hunter is a Mandalorian."

Startled, she turned around to find Maul's glowing red and yellow eyes amidst the shadows. His form was barely discernable like an apparition in darkness. He stepped further into her chamber with heavy footfalls of his prosthetic legs, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes watching her. "Will he see it through?"

She didn't know how to answer. "He seems, confident," she struggled to maintain strength in her voice as he paced before her. He seemed to come closer with each pass and she felt more and more uneasy.

"Confident, yes. Only a step away from arrogant," he remarked as if in thought. With his fiery gaze no longer fixed on her, Qi'ra got the impression that she was no longer his audience. "Still if he proves competent, he could prove to be an asset for my syndicate. It will be good to have another of my Mandalorians at hand," he sneered.

Qi'ra watched as Maul paced back and forth. "If I may, my Lord, why do you care so much about avenging Vos?"

Maul paused, turning his gaze on her again as he stepped closer. "You misunderstand me entirely. Dryden Vos was weak and a disappointment. His death is a sign that my syndicate is weak. This is not about revenge." His black and red tattooed face was mere inches from hers which sunk to an even whiter pale. "It is only about power – the power of fear and control. No insult will go unpunished."

Qi'ra bowed her head low, grateful to look away from his piercing eyes. "Yes, My Lord, forgive me."

She felt his fingers under her chin, tilting her face back up to his. She felt his power like a dark aura, the very power he spoke of – fear. It felt different than before. She opened her eyes looking back into his. There was nothing that she wanted more than to be rid of his presence – nothing, not even his power.

Maul let her chin go as he turned away. "I look forward to hearing more from our bounty hunter."

Qi'ra watched him disappear back into the shadows, but she could still feel him. She still felt the chill of his presence looming over her. She felt her legs go weak as she collapsed against the wall and slumped to the floor. She trembled, hugging her legs close to her. This was her choice. This was what she wanted, so why did she feel this way?

Since placing the bounty nearly 72 hours ago, she'd had a lot of time alone to think. It was soon coming. The Falcon would be found, Lando would be killed and what was worse, no doubt Jaster Mereel would be led to Chewbacca and Han – she hadn't thought that through. At first, she didn't want to but now it seemed unavoidable.

Her mind took her away from the dark and cold, taking her back to the captain's quarters closet of the Millennium Falcon. The color of the capes was a blur around her. Instead all she saw was Han with his overly confident grin. She could feel his kiss – familiar and instantly making her feel like her old self again, the self that she wasn't repulsed by every time she saw her reflection. The way that he looked at her, made her feel like she could be that person again.

He told her to leave with him and she wanted to. But even after she decided to turn on Dryden Vos on Savareen, she had also decided to leave Han behind. It was a decision she made even before stepping onto Dryden's ship to face him for the last time, but she was lying to herself to say that she hadn't wavered on that decision up until the final moment when the door of the lift shut and she was left alone in Dryden's office. She could feel it now, she was wrong. Han was in grave danger and it was all her fault.

"What have I done," she gasped. She took a moment before rising to her feet and standing at the hologram projector again. She keyed in the code on the console, more and more determined with each digit she entered. Another hazy blue image took form of a humanoid with large black eyes, pointy ears and a single horn on the crown of its head.

The Advozse's brow rose, widening its eyes in surprise before bowing its head. "Lady Qi'ra."

"There is someone I want you to intercept," she said crisply. "Assemble a team."


	21. Chapter 21 - A Man Without a Name

Chapter 21

A Man Without a Name

Jaster sat in the pilot's chair staring into the black Mandalorian 'T' visor of Jango's olive green helmet. It had been his only option he had to wear for his call to his Crimson Dawn employer. With a sigh he set it down on the seat beside him. With Slave 1 landed, he sat on his back, staring up through the windshield at the blindingly bright sky of Tatooine. Jaster climbed down from the pilot's chair and crawled through the hatch. He emerged into the main hold to find Sin.

He watched as she wrapped her double rig blaster belt around her waist then lifted her boot onto the bulwark of the ship and fastened the thigh straps around her legs. She turned around as she pulled on her sleeveless jacket.

Jaster felt a little flustered when their eyes met. "How's your back?"

"Sore but I'm good." She grinned as she adjusted her long dark hair. "Thank you."

"You know what's next right? Are you ready for it?" he asked.

Sin scoffed and turned back to open the entry hatch, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. "Ask a stupid question." Jaster smirked back as she descended the ramp. The dry suffocating heat of Tatooine seeped into the artificial air of Slave 1's hold through the open hatch. Jaster tugged at the collar of his Beskar chest plate, collected the E-11 blaster and clambered down the ramp after her.

"Where do we start looking?" Sin asked as they stepped through the archway entrance to the docking bay and into the bustle of life in the sheltered spaceport dome. Alien life of all shape and size moved about from one location to the next along the lanes that cut down the middle of the sub city.

Mos Entha was a buzzing metropolis compared to much of the rest of the desert wasteland planet, at least that was Jaster's impression. He had been to Tatooine before, mainly to the major spaceports of Mos Eisley. Once, with Jango, he had visited Mos Entha but never stepped foot outside of the spaceport dome. All that the city had to offer was found within the domes anyway. Outside in the merciless, dry heat of the twin suns was only speeder and swoop traffic zipping from dome to dome. The more Jaster thought about it, the more daunting the task suddenly became in his mind.

His gaze darted back and forth from the various flashing signs of saloons, inns and shops of the market. Many alien dialects buzzed in the claustrophobic air of the shady dome, broadcasting their wares. Looking up, he saw a spiraling pathway that climbed to the very top of the dome with more of the same raucous as the lower levels. It all seemed familiar to him, like a spike of déjà vu. In his mind, more of his visit from his childhood returned to him.

Already they had been walking among the crowd of foot traffic. "I got an idea." Jaster led Sin up the spiraling walkway to a discrete, hole in the wall establishment with a dingy, glowing green sign.

Sin read the sign. "A bounty office?"

"Tatooine is where people go to hide. Bounty hunting is practically law enforcement on this rock."

"Seems too easy."

"Trust me, it only gets more complicated here. Hunters come to these places to pilfer from other hunters all the time. So watch your volume and who you talk to."

"Good tip," Sin shrugged as she followed Jaster inside. They entered the door into a dark corridor and descended stairs to another door. The office was heavily shadowed as well in dim lighting. Jaster and Sin slunk away from the door along the rough surface of the sandstone wall to scan the office.

The room was a circular lounge filled with a smoky atmosphere. Other bounty hunters were spread across either at the bar that spanned along the far left wall or seated in the huddles of cushioned couches, conversing in hushed tones that maintained the stillness of the office. Their eyes were immediately drawn to the holo post in the center of the office. From various projectors up and down and around the post, holographic images of heads floated about, headlined with a name and a reward price. Few of the hunters stood around the post, perusing available bounty postings. Jaster saw past the glowing display to the caged booth in the back of the office. Together they moved across the lounge, attracting some eyes along the way but continued unbothered.

The Arcona seated on a stool in the caged booth saw them approach, fixing them in his glossy, golden gaze. "You two are new around here," he remarked with curled lips. He turned his triangular brown head to each of them. "What can I do for you?"

"Looking for a smuggler." Jaster kept his voice low. "Flies a YT freighter called the Millennium Falcon."

The Arcona broker threw up his hand to stop Jaster. "Information isn't free."

Jaster scowled at the broker as he reached to a pouch on his belt. He collected one of the last two credit chips on his person and placed it on the desk under a transaction slot in the cage. The Arcona glanced down at the pitiful tribute and balked. "Not even close, kid." His voice was substantially louder than the rest of the office.

Jaster's scowl darkened as he squeezed his last credit chip in his hand. Handing it over was against every instinct he had, but what spoke to him even more was the thought that he was merely steps away from a huge payday." Reluctantly, Jaster placed his last credit chip.

The broker shook his head. "Still short. Lucky you, there's a system here though."

"What's that?" Jaster muttered.

"I take your down payment for my services then when you finish the job, you owe a percentage."

Jaster frowned at the idea. "What if I don't come back?"

The Arcona smiled deviously and pointed to the center of the office. "You don't pay up, then you and your girlfriend's pretty face joins the rest of them on the holo projector."

"Okay, I get it," Jaster turned back to the broker. "Fine."

With another smirk, the broker worked on a terminal. "Your names?"

"Sintas Vel," she said.

Jaster hesitated as the Arcona turned to him.

He seemed to struggle to recall what to say. "Jaster Mereel." Sin frowned at him. He tried to ignore it but the more he tried, the more self-conscious he felt.

"Now this smuggler and ship," the Arcona said, distracting Jaster from his thoughts. "Got anymore on him?"

"The Millennium Falcon, its registered under a man named Lando Calrissian. We know he's here on Tatooine."

"I've heard the name Calrissian once or twice. Not familiar with the ship though," the broker said. "But if its here on Tatooine, I'll find it for you. But till then, if it's a smuggler your looking for, every smuggler on this rock worth their stones works for Jabba."

"The Hutt crime lord?" Sin asked.

The broker nodded again. Jaster didn't like what he was hearing. Getting tangled with the Hutt meant only one thing, more competition. Jaster gave the broker his communicator code. "Let me know when you've found Calrissian." He turned away from the caged booth and started back across the office. As he did, he looked about the lounge and the bar set along the side. Five other hunters stood at the bar, drinking and talking amongst each other in hushed tones – all except one.

A tall lanky figure in a long dark coat with a wide brimmed hat stood with his back to the rest of the lounge. The figure stayed to himself, with the rest of the lounge keeping their distance from him. Jaster's heartbeat intensified. He felt his blood surge hot through his veins. He snatched one of Sin's blaster pistols from her holster and held it inches away from the back of the figure's head. Slowly others within the lounge began to notice.

"Bane," Jaster growled.

Cad Bane's shoulders shook as he laughed. "Son, I wouldn't be so hasty." Slowly he turned around fixing his red eyes on Jaster with a smile on his scarred, blue lips. Jaster glanced down at Bane's blaster pistol drawn at waist level. He didn't even notice the legendary Duros bounty hunter make the draw. Jaster stared right back into Bane's eyes as they held each other at blaster point. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Considering pulling the trigger. You?"

"Same." Bane grinned. "Or the flame thrower, gas gun – both of which would take care of both you and the girl." Jaster tensed with the blaster still in hand aimed right between Cad Bane's eyes. The two bounty hunters stared each other down a moment longer before grinning again and lifting his blaster off of his young attacker. "Relax kid, bounty has gone cold." I don't have any interest in you anymore."

Jaster didn't relent. "What do you mean the hunt's cold?"

"The broker put you in the right direction. The freighter's crew is working for the Hutt now. Which means he's under the Hutt's protection."

"So what, Lando's off limits then?"

Bane frowned as he holstered his blaster. "I don't know about any 'Lando.' The crew working for the slug is some hotshot human, a Wookiee and a couple nobodies."

Jaster grunted then with a sigh lowered the blaster. "So that's it then." As Jaster moved to the bar beside the Duros, more attention from the others in the lounge was drawn to them. Murmurs and whispers wanted to know who the young hunter was that stood down Cad Bane. Sin joined Jaster at the bar, both of which realizing now that there was no rush to leave.

"So how did you know to come here?"

Bane turned back to his drink. "What? You thought you found the only intact droid in that scrapheap?"

"Then why the big show with the holdup?"

"Wanted to see what you were made of," Bane shrugged. "Not impressed by the way." Jaster shot him a dirty look as the Duros threw back his shot glass. He let out a raspy sigh from the burn of the liquor. "I know who you really are," he said out of the blue. Sin's interest was piqued.

Jaster scowled. "You don't know me."

"I only saw Jango without his helmet once. But I've seen his face hundreds of times during the war. But by the way you talked about him, you couldn't have been just any clone."

Jaster took a deep breath feeling all of his defenses melt away inside him. Bane was on to him.

Bane looked down to his shot glass as he refilled it. "I'd heard of Jango's boy. Thought he had died on a botched job." Bane looked up from his glass. "Did he?"

The young bounty hunter looked up to find Bane staring him down again. "I don't know."

Sin frowned at him puzzled again by his furtiveness. Bane scoffed as he scooted the glass infront of Jaster with the hand missing a fingertip.

He stood up and adjusted his hat. "Well, if I were you, kid, I'd figure it out. A man that doesn't have a name doesn't last long in this galaxy. That's my advice, take it or don't. Either way, doesn't matter to me." Bane stuck a toothpick in his mouth before tipping his hat and turning away towards the door.

Sin watched him go before turning back to her partner. His head was hung as he leaned against the bar staring blankly at her blaster pistol resting on the surface beside the small glass of red liquor. Her mind buzzed with questions as she played back their chat with the notorious Cad Bane about legends, clones and names. _So this __**is **__Jango Fett's son… Or is he?_

* * *

From the com device in one of his pockets, Cad Bane heard the beep of an incoming transmission. He slipped out of the flow of the crowd in the spaceport dome and ducked into a shady alcove beside a rusty old moisture evaporator. He held the device in his palm and a button.

"Bane here," he answered. The miniature image of an Advozse projected onto the surface of the device. Bane recognized the single horn headed – being with black soulless eyes as Nejik Curvak. The field lieutenant for Crimson Dawn that had employed him previously on other jobs for the syndicate.

"Cad Bane," Nejik sneered. "I see you are here on Tatooine. How would you like to make some credits?"

Bane's brow rose. "I'm listening."


	22. Chapter 22 - A Score to Settle

Chapter 22

A Score to Settle

"Boba?" He looked over to her as they walked side by side down the congested lane of the spaceport dome. "Now what?"

He sighed and rubbed at his shoulder, still sore from the impact of the blaster bolt he took while wearing the Stormtrooper armor on the Imperial Star Destroyer only twelve hours ago. "Job's over. Another damn frak up," he added under his breath. "But I still need the credits. So I'll live another day and move on to the next job."

"Guess you will," Sin said as she brushed her long dark hair from her face. "Too bad. I'd have liked to finish the job and worked with you a bit more."

He nearly stopped in his tracks. That bizarre, almost alien feeling came back in his gut. Before he knew it, he opened his mouth. "Yeah, me too." He nearly halted again, struck dumb with what he just heard himself say. This wasn't him. He wasn't supposed to care about anyone around him – but he did.

They pressed through the foot traffic with a momentary silence between them. The warmth Sin felt was not just coming from the radiation of Tatooine's twin suns. She decided to change the subject. "It would have given me a chance to find out what Cad Bane was talking about."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Clones, why was he talking about clones?"

This time he did halt. An angry Ithorian behind him blurted and grunted in disapproval as it shoved its way past. They drifted out of the lane off to the side by a tented market. He looked at Sin with tempered intensity simmering in his eyes. "Because I am one." He let loose, feeling all of his barriers and defenses finally eroded away to their breaking point. "Jango was the host and for whatever reason, he took me in, told me to call him 'dad.' I was young, so I did. But I'm not his son. That's just a lie. So why pretend to be someone I'm not?" At that moment, he felt disdain for Sin. Why did she coax him into saying all of that? Why did he allow himself to break?

She didn't look away. Her gaze was soft yet intent, searching in his eyes; they were so hardened and tired; juxtaposed by his strong yet youthful face.

She smirked, "so instead you pretend to be your Grandfather?"

"What?" he snapped, feeling a bit more annoyed.

"Jaster Mereel," she accentuated. "I actually grew up on Concord Dawn."

He knew the planet instantly, the small farm world partially obliterated by the generations of wars in the Mandalorian Sector in the Outer Rim, the home planet for both Jaster Mereel and Jango Fett.

"Jaster and Jango are local legends there. Jaster adopted Jango, and Jango adopted you," she explained matter-factly. "I know enough about Mandalorians to know that next to the hunt, family is everything for them. Seems to me that Jango told you to call him 'dad' because to him, you were his son. That must have meant something to him, just like it means something to you." The hardness in his eyes smoothed out. Sin couldn't hold back her smile, she found what she had been searching for.

Hearing her say it suddenly made it feel more real. At that moment, he was no longer on Tatooine. The heat and the sweat was swapped out instantly by a never ending storm and downpour of rain. He was a boy again, standing on the landing platform outside of Tipoca City on Kamino enveloped in the arms of a Mandalorian in silver armor. His helmet was removed, the fierce black Mandalorian 'T' instead was a warm smile on a scarred, unshaven face as he held the boy after a long hunt, rustling his son's dark, curly locks. The image was gone too soon and again, he found himself off to the side of the lane in the dome of Mos Entha, Tatooine. Looking at Sin again, all traces of disdain from earlier were long gone. What was it about her that brought him to that place?

"I thought you said you were raised by bounty hunters?" he grinned.

"I was. Mom and Dad weren't together long but they were around long enough for me to know who they were."

If that was all it took - it dawned on him in that moment - of all the millions of clones of Fett that were grown and of the ranks that he personally trained for the Grand Army of the Republic, _he_ was the one that knew Jango the best.

They reached the docking bay entry and turned the corner into the hangar where Slave 1 was landed – but the hangar was not empty. Surrounding the ship, Jaster recognized a few of their faces. Off to the left standing by the foot of the ramp was a tall slender figure with pale green skin and a wrinkled face. The Kyuzo wore a relatively flat, metal wide brimmed coolie hat and in his hands he carried a Wookiee made bowcaster. From the hat alone, Jaster knew he was Embo.

Off to the right, two female Zabracks with pale skin and dark hair intermingled with the short crown of horns on their heads stood by with their own unique blasters already leveled at him and Sin. Jaster had encountered one of them before – Sugi. The other was shorter and clearly younger than her but strikingly similar in appearance.

Floating by the head of Slave 1 was a four tentacle legged Parwan with long flailing tentacle arms wrapped around blaster pistols. It wore a vest of thermal detonators with a shoulder mounted blaster turret that peeked beside its narrow, three-eyed mushroom-like head. If Jaster had to guess, the hunter was the one called, 'the Exterminator.'

In the middle was a vibrantly green skinned Nautolan with short tentacles on its head. Jaster spotted on its back a jetpack worn over a bulky chest plate. Behind the Nautolan was another figure – one that Jaster identified instantly.

"So here is Fett's ship. I thought I recognized it on Kessel." He turned around; Jaster didn't expect to see Cad Bane again so soon.

"Bane! I thought you said you weren't interested in me anymore."

"I wasn't." Bane stepped up in front of the Nautolan and slowly began to side step as he faced Jaster. "You weren't competition for my bounty. But now there's a new bounty and you're the target."

Jaster side stepped opposite Bane, keeping the Duros in front of him. "How much am I worth?"

"Oh my usual rate." Bane's hands hovered over the grips of his blaster pistol. "You could call it a finder's fee."

"So what?" Jaster one-handed his E-11 down at his side. "You're going to kill me now?"

"I'm considering it." Bane was slowly making his way near the entrance where Jaster had been standing with Jaster now nearly in between the Nautolan and Embo. "You see, I told them to pay me in advance. I still owe Fett and it would be a shame to kill his boy."

Jaster's eyes narrowed. Bane had a sly smile on his scarred face. Something within Jaster spoke to him. A notion grew in his gut that contradicted everything he believed in and battled against his basest instincts of survival. Before his eyes, he saw the blur of Cad Bane's hands as they snatched his blaster pistols from the holsters and fired each of them in a different direction. One shot narrowly missed the Nautolan, leaving a carbon score smoking on Slave 1's hull. The other shot found its mark. With his natural Kyuzo reflexes, Embo bowed his head using the metal saucer on his head as a shield that ricocheted the blaster bolt into the sand with a resonant 'ping.' Embo dropped to a knee and swiftly leveled his bow caster and fired away at Cad Bane. Jaster turned sharply at the Nautolan and exchanged shots with the alien bounty hunter. He jumped over to Slave 1's ramp breaking line of sight.

Sin struggled to fend off the blaster shots from the two female Zabraks.

"Jas, get cover," Sugi called to her protégé. The two darted to Slave 1's head from the consecutive suppression of Sin's twin blaster pistols. She diverted her aim to the Exterminator but her shots missed their mark on the slithery alien. After firing shots of his own, the Parwan bounty hunter flailed his four tentacle legs and ascended high into the air. From his lofty position, the Exterminator rained blaster shots down on Sin.

Jaster ducked behind cover on the opposite side of his ship. Overhead he heard the roar of jets then the Nautolan dropped beside him. Jaster threw a punch at his opponent, landing the hit on its jaw before the it struck back. Jaster took the blow but used the E-11 to bat the second one away before slamming the stock into the Nautolan's head.

Sin was pinned with only the fin like wing of Slave 1 separating her from the Zabraks, Sugi and Jas Emari. Blaster fire continued to keep her down, unable to peek for a shot. A shadow cast down from above, followed by a battle cry as Jas Emari leapt from off the top of Slave 1. Sin barely noticed the knife in her hand as she dropped on top of her, seizing the Zabrak's wrist just in time to keep the blade from stabbing into her. The two crashed and rolled in the sand, straining to gain the edge over each other.

Unable to get a clean shot on Sin, the Exterminator lifted his fire, still floating high above the skirmish. He drifted over the ship to where Jaster and the Nautolan continued to trade blows. Jaster took another hit to the face but pressed on with a savage look in his eye. As blaster fire rained down him from the sky, he drove his boot into the Nautolan's gut, keeling him over then grabbed ahold of one of the short head tentacles growing from the alien's scalp. Jaster yanked back before striking directly to the Nautolan's throat. The Nautolan gurgled and gasped, collapsing to the sand. Jaster snatched up the E-11 and fired, leaving a smoking blast point between the Nautolan's eyes.

He jumped back under the cover of Slave 1's tail to avoid the Exterminator's airstrike. Jaster peeked out from his cover and fired up at the floating Parwan that slithered in the air to avoid the shots. He had to get closer. The young bounty hunter's gaze dropped to the Nautolan. Quickly he darted from cover and flipped the alien bounty hunter's body onto its stomach. Using the uplink controls on the bounty hunter's gauntlet, he unsecured the magnetic lock of the jetpack from its back before slapping it onto his beskar back plate. Jaster put the gauntlet on his forearm and fired the jet pack, soaring off the ground with a plume of sand in his wake. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he flew - a familiar sensation that he had forgotten how much he enjoyed.

Cad Bane glanced up briefly from his fight with Embo to see Jaster soaring in the air after the floating Parwan. He grinned in momentary satisfaction before having to dodge another shot. Embo and Bane continued to trade blaster shots against each other. Bane kept low to the ground, constantly moving while Embo relied on his own reflexes and his shielding hat.

Embo charged at Bane with his head down like a battering ram. With a sneer, Bane braced himself on the sand and took the blow, slapping his hands on the surface of the hat. He activated the stun shockers of his gauntlets, sending an electrical current through the metal surface of the hat. The current rippled with a red energy that jolted through Embo's body for mere moments before he instinctively pushed away, leaving his hat in Bane's grip. Bane chucked the hat at his opponent but Embo leapt back in a handspring, landing back on his feet. As the hat biffed into the sand, Bane rolled to one of his discarded blaster pistols. Embo sprang forward in another handspring, snatching his hat and using it as a shield against Cad's shots.

Sin fought her way on top of Jas whom struggled to regain dominance with a cut of her knife that sliced open her opponent's arm. Sin growled and struck Jas in the face before wrestling the blade from her grip, pounding her hand hard against the hull of Slave 1. Jas retaliated, finally managing to kick Sin off of her.

Jaster weaved through the air dodging blaster fire, closing in on the Exterminator. Even from the fast-shrinking distance, Jaster saw the electrical sparks and currents coarse over the Parwan's tentacles, he would have to keep his distance. Level with his opponent, Jaster hovered and aimed the E-11 then fired a burst of blaster fire.

The Exterminator avoided the first few shots before taking a bolt center mass. The Exterminator's flailing body fell from the sky like a deflated balloon before slapping down on Slave 1's windshield. All definition and substance was gone from the corpse like a pile of leathery clothes removed then discarded on the floor. A subtle gaseous mist trailed from where the Parwan had hovered to a cloud seeping out of the remains.

From his vantage point, Jaster aimed down at Embo and opened fire. The first shot splashed and burned the sand harmlessly by his foot, calling his attention in order to deflect the next shots. Jaster laid down blaster fire before his E-11 clicked at the pull of the trigger – the power pack was spent and he had no replacements. Embo dodged the last of the shots and used his hat as a shield, sending them haphazardly across the hangar bay. One of which struck Cad Bane in the torso.

Jaster flew back over the other side of Slave 1 just in time to see Jas Emari seize Sin from behind. He felt drawn to the struggle and descended before disengaging the jetpack, landing behind Jas, collecting both her abandoned knife and her EE-3 blaster carbine from the sand before seizing her by surprise. Sin was released and thrown away from the two in another cloud of upthrown dust and sand. Holding Jas in a head lock with the knife held at her throat, Jaster aimed the EE-3 off to the side with the other hand and fired a precise shot at Embo twenty yards across the hangar. Embo took the hit on his shoulder pauldron.

"I suggest you let go of my niece," a voice called through the dissipating cloud of sand and dust. A silhouette emerged as the dust cleared and Jaster found Sin held captive by the bounty hunter, Sugi. He grit his teeth, realizing he had the disadvantage with his blaster aimed elsewhere while Sugi had hers trained in his direction. "Do it, or she gets her throat opened."

Jaster swore, seeing that his options were limited. There was only one that kept Sin alive. "A trade," he demanded.

"At the same time." She didn't trust him any less than he didn't trust her.

Jaster started the count using a language he gambled to think she didn't know, anything to gain a little edge over his opponent and find a flaw he could exploit. In Mando'a the language of his child hood, he counted down.

"Ehn… T'ad… Solus…" He shoved Jas forward and a split second after, Sugi released Sin. As Sin and Jas met in the middle they glared at each other.

"Schutta," Jas spat.

"Shabla," Sin shot back.

A shadow passed over them as a speeder descended between the two pairs, throwing up another large dust cloud. Embo beckoned at Sugi and Jas from the pilot's seat of the speeder. With the three of them loaded into the speeder, the engine screeched louder as it ascended then accelerated away.

Jaster's gaze lingered where the speeder disappeared. "You okay?"

Sin looked at him with a gentle smile. "Yeah, thanks." A grunt from behind drew their attention back to the hangar floor. Cad Bane stumbled forward with his hand pressed on his gut. His red eyes seemed to struggle to stay open. Jaster stood firm holding the EE-3 blaster carbine at the ready.

"So it is true and now I've seen it with my own eyes," he gasped. "You are Fett's son." The Duros bounty hunter stumbled weakly to the entrance of the hangar bay.

"Why?" Jaster asked. Cad Bane halted, holding himself up against the wall of the entry and looked back over his shoulder.

"At first, for the credits. Then to settle a score. Now you have one to settle with Crimson Dawn." Cad Bane turned back and left the hangar behind.


	23. Chapter 23 - A Proposal

Chapter 23

A Proposal

He reached into the crate and grabbed the olive shin plates. One after the other, he secured the plates to the legs of his grey flight suit. Sin sat against the wall of the main hold with a tentative look in her eyes as she watched. As her partner fastened the armor plates, his expression was hardened with determination and a stone cold focus. His entire demeanor was like ice, exuding a chilling atmosphere in the hot, dry air of Tatooine.

"Are you sure about this?" Sin questioned. "How do you know that you can trust Bane?"

"I don't trust him. But Crimson Dawn is the only one that makes sense."

"What if it was the Empire?" She crossed her arms.

He looked up from securing the thigh plates. "Then that will save us a flight back to Kessel." Sin wasn't sure whether or not she felt comfortable around the man before her. "How are you going to get them to talk to you?" she challenged.

He placed the Mandalorian helmet over his face. The cold, thousand mile stare in his eyes was emblemized by the fierce black 'T' visor bordered by a blood red trim. "You are going to persuade them."

* * *

Over the years that General Derron Bosa served at his duty station as the commanding officer over all Imperial Military operations of the Tatooine system, he had never stepped outside of the capitol city of Bestine. For a man of sophistication and prestige, the rest of the dustbowl planet had nothing to offer him.

Under the reign of the Empire, Bestine had been tamed and purged of the scum and crime facilitated by the control of the Hutt Cartel. Maintaining the fragile cooperation that the Hutts had with the Empire was a major role of his duty station. It was the brand new Governor Tour Aryon's job deal to with the despicable slugs, but it was his job to keep the planet from blowing up and the streets from erupting with riots and random Stormtrooper shootings.

All of this work took place behind a desk, far from being behind a blaster. The monotony of the job even made a walk in the exhausting heat outside in the courtyard of the palace seem refreshing. In his full, olive uniform, black leather gloves and cap, General Bosa strode down the stone courtyard with his eyes low in thought – also to keep from searing his retinas on the descending afternoon twin suns.

The quiet air suddenly filled with the rumbling hum of a starship engine. It wasn't the familiar howl of a Lambda Class T4 shuttle or the shriek of a TIE fighter that made his skin crawl. If he had to guess, it wasn't an Imperial ship at all.

General Bosa looked up into the sun-bled orange sky. The sound grew louder as a uniquely shaped starship approached the domed capitol palace. He frowned, turning to a pair of patrolling Stormtroopers in sand-dulled white armor.

"Trooper, report this to security command."

The Stormtroopers nodded. "Yes, General." The ship's blatant approach was clearly evident. General Bosa realized that now was a bad time to consider establishing turret towers on the palace perimeter. The ship reoriented itself onto its back as it descended to the stone courtyard, erupting a wave of sand and dust in the engine wash.

General Bosa held down his hat to keep it from flying off his head. The troopers ran up to his side with their E-11 blaster rifles in hand. The General wished at that moment that he was armed as well. With the engines still rumbling, the entry folded open and an armored figure descended the ramp below the overhead tail of the craft. The figure's armor was old with the olive, yellow and red paint weathered and scraped away from what appeared to be the effects of war. A tattered, tan cape hung off of the left shoulder underneath a jetpack. In its hands was a scoped blaster carbine.

"Halt!" one of the troopers barked with a leveled E-11. "Who goes there?"

The figure reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped forward undaunted. "You're a four-star general, which means you command this system for the Empire." The armored man's voice was cold.

General Bosa squinted, suddenly feeling uneasy of the intruder's knowledge of Imperial chain of command. "I command the Imperial military operations for Tatooine, yes. Now who are you?" he demanded.

The man stood completely still, unfazed by neither the General's high station nor being held at blaster point by both of the Stormtroopers. "I am Boba Fett."

The General suddenly felt a swell of gumption. "Mr. Fett, you are intruding on Imperial government property. Drop your weapon and submit yourself into custody."

Fett remained unmoved. "No."

"You don't have a choice."

"Neither do you." Behind Fett, the ship's hatch closed as it suddenly rose back off the ground, reorienting itself upright again. The twin cannons on the tail locked onto a target – focusing on the domed structure of the palace. "If anything happens to me, this entire base will be disintegrated."

The General's gaze set on the airborne ship hovering over the intruder, his thoughts suddenly turned to the hundreds of political officials, high ranking military officers and families within the palace. "Fine, what is it you want?"

"To talk to you. I have a proposal."

"And that is?"

"You Imperials want to muscle in on the crime syndicates. I can get you to Crimson Dawn and secure you the Pyke Syndicate's mining operations on Kessel in the process."

General Bosa was taken aback. What Fett was proposing sounded intriguing but beyond the general's paygrade. Above all, it was a fantastical notion. Who did he think he was, offering these kinds of promises? As of yet, Bosa was far from convinced to contact anyone else about the proposal. "What is so special about you that you can make this possible?"

"I have inside expertise of the facilities on Kessel. And I can get you intel on Crimson Dawn's operations once inside. Now I know you can't authorize this raid. Stop wasting my time and put me in contact with the Moff in command of the Kessel Sector or I'll make good on my threat and move on to someone else with enough balls to do so."

* * *

He was Boba Fett. Something about finally accepting it was invigorating to him. There was an inexplicable empowerment that came from donning a new identity, living within a sense of anonymity. Not a single one of the Imperial officers or troopers that stood around him in the hanger of the Star Destroyer had any clue that merely a day ago, he had gone by the name Jaster Mereel.

The general on Tatooine needed little more persuasion to contact Moff Midel Viker, the overseeing commander of Imperial Military assets of the region of charted space referred to as the Kessel Sector. Moff Viker proved far more ambitious than General Bosa. By the Moff's command, Boba Fett was attached to a platoon in the 314th Battalion as a field expert. Fett had demanded command over the assaulting element of the attack which had been organized and planned according to both his and Sin's intel.

His platoon was mustered together in formation, performing a final gear check. Boba stood on his own by Slave 1, landed beside a beefed up IF-120 Lander shuttle. He looked over the blaster carbine he had taken from one of the Zabrak bounty hunters that had attacked him on Tatooine. He wished he had the time and resources to link his armor's internal computer system with the jetpack and his ship; both were tasks for another day and another mission.

In a matter of hours, he would be commanding a detachment of thirty troops – it made no difference to him. They were cannon fodder, another target for the Pyke's security forces to shoot at instead of him as he pursued his target.

Sin stepped down Slave 1's ramp, gazing over the collection of the white armored troopers. She kept her arms crossed, as if intentionally keeping distance from her fully armored partner. Not much had been said between them since boarding the Imperial Star Destroyer.

"Funny. Just yesterday we were sabotaging these guys," she remarked with a half-hearted grin.

"They're necessary." He didn't look up at her. "I need your help during the attack to slice the computers. I'm willing to bet the Pykes have records someplace that the riot didn't reach that has all the intel I need."

Sin bit her upper lip, letting her gaze fall down on the dome of Boba's helmet. She had to say it now, hoping it wasn't already too late. "You know, we've given them everything they need to pull this off. They don't need us."

"I'm going to finish this."

Her gaze turned stern as her voice lost all traces of hesitation. "Payback doesn't always pay off," she added bitterly then took a sigh to melt away the edge in her tone. "Why not just go home?"

"I don't have a home."

"You could," her tone was almost a whisper. Boba looked up, his eyes meeting hers – dark blue and soft with plea. He realized that it was not a statement, it was an offer.

Behind the cold sternness of his Mandalorian helmet, Boba's own expression softened. "Crimson Dawn won't stop until we're dead. I'm going to end it. And I need you," he added.

Sin sighed, looking at him as if she could peer through the 'T' visor. "Alright, Bo." They both looked away to the assembled Stormtroopers now moving about the hanger performing a tactical rehearsal of the operation. Although executing the same procedure of moves, simulating door breaches and room clearings, they didn't move with the same regimented precision that Boba remembered of the troopers from his childhood. This was not Jango's army. Only time would tell if their imitation would be enough to keep them alive.


	24. Chapter 24 - The Raid

Chapter 24

The Raid

Through the brown smog of Kessel's atmosphere, the dagger shape of the Imperial Star Destroyer descended over the mine. From the glowing hangar bay well in the underbelly, a stream of bulky shuttles with slope-nosed cockpits flew in formation to the surface. As they closed in, turret towers from the surface rotated to lock onto target but were immediately destroyed by torpedoes from the incoming shuttles.

The ships branched out, landing along the rim of the massive mine. The shuttles set down on four legged landing struts on the rocky, barren surface then lowered down a ramp, releasing the platoon of Stormtroopers each of them carried inside. As each platoon of troopers touched down, Boba heard the reports coming in from the lieutenants on Slave 1's radio, paying little mind to their progress in securing the perimeter of the mine.

More shuttles continued down into the mine, settling on landing pads outside of mine shaft entrances and other facilities. What little resistance they did meet was easily thwarted by the Stormtroopers' superior force.

Sin knew more about the Pyke's facilities around the mine than Boba had originally thought. From the passenger's seat at his side, she led Boba to their target. Slave 1 slipped past the perimeter set up by the Imperial forces and descended to a landing halfway down the mine.

Slave 1's hatch opened and Boba's platoon of Stormtroopers poured out with their blasters leveled. Pyke sentinels took cover outside of a large shielded door set in the rock face of the mine and opened fire on the armored troopers. Second to last off the patroller, Boba emerged with his EE-3 blaster carbine lit by the precise and lethal bolts from its muzzle. With a press of a button on his gauntlet, the jets of his jetpack ignited and he launched ten feet off the landing pad and fired from his lofty vantage point. The Pyke sentinels dropped from the onslaught and the Stormtroopers pressed forward to the tunnel entry.

From the walkways spanning overhead, more Sentinels opened fire down on the troopers below. Boba flew to the walkway, drawing fire away from the platoon. He landed on the metal grated surface with a heavy clang in between the line of guards. Moving fluidly, he shot one of the Sentinels down at point blank before turning and kicking another over the railing. Boba barely heard the guard's scream, as he turned to another approaching from behind and fired a wrist mounted blaster from his gauntlet. The HUD of his Mandalorian helmet provided a 360 degrees radar imagery of the remaining sentinels around him. As another advanced on his side, he drove his elbow into its squared helmet. Boba doubled back on each fazed opponent and executed each with a shot from his carbine. The last sentinel jolted and sprawled out on the walkway as the blaster bolt struck him.

Over his coms, a Stormtrooper's gruff voice called to him. "The entry is shielded and there are no controls out here."

"I can see that," Boba replied before bolting down the walkway to a cutout entry in the rockface. Once inside, the rough-cut stone-walled tunnel turned sharply before opening to a small security control booth. A masked worker in a bright yellow jumpsuit leapt out of his chair and raised a blaster pistol. Before Boba could make his move, the worker let off a wild shot that skimmed the young bounty hunter in his right shoulder bell. The armor absorbed the bolt but still threw his shoulder back violently almost to the point of dislocation. Pain alone wasn't enough to stop him. Boba raised his left arm and shot him down with the wrist mounted blaster. The worker slumped to the ground in a puff of the sulfur-like residue coating the rocky surfaces.

Boba stepped over the body to the control terminal along the wall below the collection of screens. He found the control to the energy shield and threw the switch. Without waiting to watch the image of the shield disappear, he continued down from the booth into another narrow tunnel that opened up to a suspended walkway on the other side of the door.

The earthy chamber echoed as the door slid open, shaking off more of the sulfuric residue into the air, clearly visible in the crack of light from the outside. Boba vaulted over the railing, engaging his jetpack just in time to soften his drop as the first of the Stormtroopers poured in. With the first two squads posted outside for security, the third squad joined Boba inside. From behind, Sin approached with her blaster pistols drawn and ready followed by the fourth squad of Stormtroopers.

"Which way?" Boba asked.

"Down there," she nodded to the central corridor of the three dug into the rockface.

Boba turned to the Stormtroopers. "Split your squad up and have them clear those other two passages."

"Yes Sir," the trooper barked then took off with the rest of his Squad.

Boba turned back to Sin. "On your lead." She eyed him as she proceeded into the corridor. It was much wider and smoother than the other two, lit adequately enough by yellow tinted lighting fixtures on both sides of the wall. Boba moved briskly behind her with his blaster cradled and the remaining squad of Stormtroopers on his tail. He didn't like having his back to them but watched his radar sensor carefully for any sudden movements. Up ahead his radar suddenly flared with a wave of motion. As Sin approached a turn in the tunnel, Boba lunged after her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away from the corner. The rock wall shattered from a barrage of blaster fire that nearly shook the entire corridor. The sulfur like residue dusted into the air, momentarily obscuring their vision. Sin coughed as Boba held her close and away from the corner.

"Switch to thermals," one of the troopers called out to his squad before veering wide from the corner and firing down the corridor. More troopers followed, filling the passage with blaster fire that streaked red bolts of light through the yellow dust. The ringing echoes of suppressive fire shook the corridor, nearly deafening all those without the aid of combat helmets outfitted with sound dampeners. Boba clamped his palms over Sin's ears until the assault ended.

"You alright?" he asked as he let her go.

"I'm fine," she replied with a shove to his chest plate, turning the corner. Boba watched her closely. She was lying. Something was bothering her, something she wasn't telling him. She didn't want to be here; he knew that already – but why?

With mounting caution, he continued around the corner. Dead bodies littered the corridor. Two of which were the usual Sentinels standing guard but surrounding them were other beings. Some were thin and scrawny while others merely maintained their physique because of their unique alien forms. They were half naked and shackled at their ankles and wrists – slaves. Few of them had blasters, others were merely meat shields. Boba stepped over their bodies with indifference in his eyes. Wrong place, wrong time – bad luck.

Sin was already at the end of the corridor working at a terminal to the door to their destination. She could have let one of the Stormtroopers tackle slicing the terminal, but decided it was best for her to work than to look at the dead slaves anymore. The terminal lights blinked from red to green and the door slid open.

The Troopers moved into the room, each one taking a corner or checking around the area behind consoles and other bulks of machinery and equipment. Each of their voices sounded one after the other giving the all clear without firing a single shot. Boba followed Sin inside. The room was wide and open. They stepped out onto a stage like floor with steps that led down either side to a lower level of console workstations. Overlooking the lower level was a central terminal station with a holoprojector. The room was dark and abandoned as if it had been sealed for some time.

"The Pyke's central administrative hub on Kessel," Sin said as she observed the overlooking terminal. Boba watched from behind as she went to work, taking her datapad and interfacing with the system. Before long she was in. The terminal glowed to life as the mainframe booted visibly on the holo-projector. Sin worked the controls, accessing the databanks. The system suddenly shut down, drowning the room in darkness again. Sin stepped back startled.

Boba didn't like the looks of it. "What happened?" Before she could answer the holoprojector flashed back to life with an ominous hum. The room was cast in blood red light from the icon rotating tauntingly over the projector. Boba fixed his eyes on the symbol, the jagged claw mark of Death Watch. He felt his blood boil the longer he stared at the symbol. It was indeed a taunt meant only for one person – him. And it could only have come from one person.

Boba turned on Sin. "You said Hos was dead."

Sin said nothing, she didn't have to. She was stone faced but her eyes told a different story. Her lie was plain to be seen but so too was bitter pain that was harbored because of it. Boba was speechless. His blood still ran hot as a new wave of emotion built inside him. He clenched down on it, willing it out of his very fiber so that he felt nothing, it was easier that way. He stepped past her without a word.

"You want him?" her voice was flat and void of all emotion. He had never heard her voice sound like that before. Boba looked back over his shoulder. She turned towards him, holding out a palm-sized communicator. "Follow the transmission code."

Boba looked from her face to the device in her hand. Turning halfway back to her, he took the communicator from her hand then walked out the door as Sin watched him leave.


	25. Chapter 25 - Victory

Chapter 25

Victory

As if he could still see the Imperial Star Destroyer suspended in the sky above the surface of Kessel, Hos peered down at the smoggy atmosphere of the planet in the gaseous maelstrom surrounding it. The oculus on the bow of his ship overlooked the wide-open atrium of the center four decks, connected by walkways that climbed along the side and spanned across to each other like a gloomy plaza that occupied the front half of the ship. It reminded him of his world, Mandalore. The interior of the luxury yacht had a sharp geometrical urban décor with more glass panes than solid walls for the bulwark. The platform on which he stood was directly behind the peak of the transparent, red dome, offering him the perfect perch to watch the approach of the Empire's raid on Kessel.

As he stood in a silent, studious watch, he wondered what this now meant for the Pyke Syndicate. As the contracted security head of the Pyke's leader, he knew full well that the syndicate's forces were no match against the Empire. The defenses would fall and Kessel would no longer be theirs. What was the Pykes without their spice and coaxium mining exports? Was this the end of the Syndicate? Would they crawl back to Crimson Dawn and beg for Maul's forgiveness for abandoning him eleven years ago – the thought made him smirk. What did they have to offer now? Or, would the Empire let them continue with a shady understanding that they now owned them? As a Mandalorian warrior, he couldn't care less about the politics of it all. But as the new face of Crimson Dawn, it was a persistent thought in his mind.

The contest was over, he was Vos' replacement. Not only had he beaten Qi'ra to the hunt for Vos' killer, but Maul himself granted him his new placement. Hos only wished he could see the look of disappointment and defeat on Qi'ra's face. Relishing the thought of his new status, he wondered what Ahlot Pyke would think of him now. For the moment, the head of the Pyke Syndicate was refuged in the hospitality of Hos' ship. How will the Pyke like having to deal with Hos now as the new head of Crimson Dawn?

Hos breathed in his victory before turning away from the view before him. He made it a few steps away before pausing. He couldn't define it on the spot but a familiar feeling in his gut told him to turn back around. As he did, a vertically oriented oval shaped ship with two short fin-like wings and a tail slowly ascended into view of the oculus. The two twin blaster cannons at the end of the tail suddenly glowed red hot. The ship shook slightly from the peppering of the cannons. Hos dove from the elevated platform to the deck below as the oculus shattered on impact of the cannon fire. The violent pull of the vacuum of space tore at him, dragging him across the deck of one of the lower walkways. He grabbed the handrail with a death-defying grip as his body hung suspended by the torrenteous claim of the vacuum. Hos grit his teeth from the struggle. He only had to endure for a moment longer for the emergency shield system to engage.

The Firespray's cannons stopped firing. From behind the craft, a figure with a tailing jet like a missile arced around and shot straight for the breach of the shattered oculus. Just as the glowing blue energy shield spread over the breach, the whipping howl and vacuum of space ceased and Hos rose to his feet. Standing on the platform in front of the glowing energy shield Boba Fett looked down on the Death Watch warrior. Before Hos could process what stood before him, Boba launched back into the air with his jetpack and shot straight for him. Like a rocket, Boba collided right into the armored warrior with a heavy clash and the two shot straight off the walkway to the deck below. They crashed hard from the force of the jetpack, rolling and tumbling apart from each other.

They scrambled to their feet and faced one another. Boba raised his left arm and released a stream of flame. Hos dove and rolled away from the blaze as it followed after him. In a split second, Boba cut off the burst of flame then fired the wrist mounted blaster from the same gauntlet just as Hos found his footing again. The shot hit Hos dead in the chest plate, leaving a smoking blast point on its already sleek black finish.

Hos winced from the impact before laughing back at him. "You're going to need a lot more to put me down."

"Take your pick. I got plenty for you to choose from." From his right gauntlet, a thin, six-inch blade extended above his fist. Boba closed in, slicing the air in front of Hos as he stepped away from each strike. Boba went for a lunge, stabbing as hard and as fast as he could, but Hos was faster. He grabbed Boba's forearm in one hand then with his opposite elbow drove down on the blade, snapping it from the gauntlet.

Neither of them heard the clatter of the broken blade on the metal deck over the wail of the emergency alarm. Hos followed through by palming the dome of Boba's helmet then forcing it into his knee. The blow did little more than cause Boba to stumble onto his back.

He aimed his gauntlet at Hos and fired the fiber cord. The cord found its mark, wrapping around Hos' neck. With the snare secured, Boba gunned his jetpack, scooting across the deck and dragging Hos behind him. He angled up off the deck and flew back into the air with Hos still hanging underneath him by the cord, more than twenty feet from the bottom deck. Boba grit his teeth, his arm straining under the weight but determined to leave Hos hanging. His roaring jetpack started to sputter from the weight and depleting fuel supply. Hos wriggled and struggled below, glaring up at Boba's suspended feet above him – just a little longer.

From his own gauntlet, Hos activated a serrated razor edge along his arm. Grabbing the cord with his other hand, Hos sawed away vigorously at the taut cord. The fiber cord snapped and Hos plummeted back to the deck below. Hos heard the crack before feeling the jolt of pain in his knee – it still wasn't enough to stop him. Grunting from the throb of his disjointed knee, he rolled to his bad leg as Boba dove straight for him.

With the added force of his fading jetpack, Boba pummeled right into him. They clashed, rolling and tumbling across the deck of the atrium. This time, Boba latched onto his opponent as they skid, scraped and tumbled to the far end towards the stern of the ship. Slamming against the rear bulwark of the atrium, they came to a stop. The two wasted no time, struggling against the other to gain the upper hand. Boba and Hos traded blows, clashing against each other's armor. A grating scrape in his ears against the side of Boba's helmet reminded him of the razor ejected from Hos' gauntlet.

Hos ended up on top. In his dominant position, he drove his hand into Boba's throat, pinning him into the deck. Boba struggled against the hold while Hos maneuvered into an even greater dominant position, wrapping his arm around Boba's tricep. With a final maneuver, Hos moved his legs, clamping his knees together and flopping onto his back with Boba's outstretched arm trapped in his legs and rotated against the elbow. Boba growled against the strain, knowing what Hos had in mind. With a merciless pull in the wrong direction, the locked elbow snapped. Boba screamed inside his helmet. His right arm was on fire from his shoulder to the fingertips.

Hos threw the limp arm from his grip, sending another spike of pain. Boba laid awkwardly on his jetpack as Hos knelt beside him. He grabbed the rim of Boba's helmet and yanked it off of his head. Still grasping it, he beat on Boba's face. The weathered olive-green dome of the helmet smeared with a mess of Boba's blood. Battered and beaten, Boba collapsed, coughing and drooling a red pool from his mouth. His vision started to haze but he fought to stay alert – he would not go out like this. As his eyes wearily wandered, he saw the holsters on Hos' thighs and the exposed grips of his father's Westar-34s.

Hos looked to the blood smeared helmet and scoffed. "Jaster Mereel, you call yourself, and now you wear my armor." He tossed the helmet aside as he seized his beaten prey in front of him in a choke hold with his hands positioned on opposite the sides of his head. Boba felt the torque in his neck. This was Hos' last play. To the Death Watch warrior, the fight was over and once again, he was on top. He reveled in it, the thrill of conquest and domination. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

With his left hand, Boba reached back and snatched the Westar from Hos' holster and put the muzzle under his chin. The ring of the blaster deafened his left ear and he felt the searing heat of the bolt so close to his battered face. The hands on Boba's head slackened, easing the torque from his neck. The pistol still smoked beside his head as the clatter of an armored body collapsed limp on the metal deck.

Boba turned to look down at Hos' dead body, a smoking blast point under the chin of the Mandalorian's helmet. Despite the pain in his face, he managed a sneer. "I'm Boba Fett."


	26. Chapter 26 - Pay Off

Chapter 26

Pay Off

Boba descended the ramp of Slave 1 in the brightly lit hanger bay of the Imperial Star Destroyer. He was careful to keep his arm in a protected position while not drawing attention to it – he couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness. Already the bacta shot he had taken dulled the agony he had been in all while he had scuttled Hos' ship – he still had a job to do. He could feel the eyes of the Stormtroopers from behind their scowling helmets, wondering what human's blood it was splattered on the dome of his olive-green helmet and speckling the fierce black 'T'.

At the far end by the door of the hanger, three officers stood accompanied by more Stormtroopers. Boba didn't recognize two of them, either that or he was too sore and tired to care if he had seen them before. But the officer in the matching dark olive uniform without a cap on his shining bald head, Boba recognized immediately - Moff Midel Viker, the overseeing commander of the Kessel Sector. Viker's build was much fuller in person than it had been over the hologram. The rank plaque bearing ten colored squares on Viker's chest did not intimidate Boba in the slightest. He was simply his employer.

A voice from his past sounded in Boba's ear. _"The transfer. Get in, get out…" _Boba recalled the advice from his father from the first time he had accompanied him on the closing transaction for a bounty. With Jango's Westars worn in the holsters on his thighs, Boba grinned behind his helmet. It was just another way that Jango had looked out for him, prepared him and now had saved him. Boba stopped feet away from Viker whom fixed him sternly.

"The assault was a success. Kessel now belongs to the Emperor. You on the other hand have failed to deliver, bounty hunter. The Pyke Syndicate was nowhere to be found and we have nothing on Crimson Dawn." The sharpness of Viker's voice was enough to cut a lesser man.

Boba held up a datacard for the Moff to see. "This is what I promised you. Racketeering, operations, government payoffs, location, leadership - everything you want to know about Crimson Dawn is right here."

The Moff's eyes gave away what he tried to hide with his stoic expression. "I already know about their leadership."

Boba stared back. "No you don't." The cold in Boba's tone was enough to finally shake the Moff's pristine exterior of command. He was intrigued. "I have more too."

"Yes?"

"The Pyke."

Viker perked up. "Prove it."

Boba turned back to his ship. He boarded the ramp and ducked inside. Moments later, he returned with another figure out in front. Ahlot Pyke shielded his eyes as he emerged into the brightly lit hanger. After spending the last hour in a pitch black locker on board Slave 1, the light was blinding to him.

Moff Viker grinned greedily as Boba led the leader of the Pyke Syndicate into his presence. "Well, it seems I misjudged you, bounty hunter. Well done."

"Fifty thousand," Boba demanded. The other two officers traded amused glances with each other.

"You're bold, Fett," Viker grinned. "Done. You've done your Emperor a good service today. He will hear of this, I assure you." He turned to the officer to his right. "Commander, see that Boba Fett is paid." After the Moff left the hanger, Boba waited by his ship with both the datacard and the Pyke still in his grasp. A moment later, the commander approached holding a metal case, escorted by Stormtroopers. Boba felt anxious, he didn't like being there that long.

The commander stepped up to him. "The datacard?"

Boba held out the card for the officer then handed Ahlot Pyke into the hands of one of the Stormtroopers. The commander handed Boba the case and Boba took it. Had he had full mobility with both hands, he would have opened it to check but the weight alone was enough to satisfy him.

"That concludes our business, bounty hunter."

Boba nodded slowly then turned back up Slave 1's ramp. As the hatch closed, he set the case down in the hold then crawled to the cockpit. Moments later, the sublight engines were live and he Slave 1 was flying away from the Star Destroyers and into the black of space.

From the pilot's seat, Boba worked the controls, setting Slave 1 to autopilot. He reached into his belt and from a pouch withdrew a small hand-held device. The holo communicator was one of the two items he had picked off of the Nautolan bounty hunter's body from Tatooine. He knew it would serve a purpose when the time came. Now that he had finished the job and learned all that he wanted to know about Crimson Dawn from the data on Hos' ship, it was time to put it all to good use.

A small, hazy, blue image of a woman stood on the holo projector of the device in his palm. "Jid Lodetto, I assume you have good news for me," Qi'ra's voice was anxious.

"The Nautolan is dead."

Qi'ra struggled to maintain her composure. "Jaster Mereel?"

"My name is Boba Fett. Your hitmen are dead, but you have bigger things to worry about."

Shock continued to shake her as she strived to stay cool in front of the man she had ordered to be killed. "I assume that means you are coming after me next." she said. Boba stared long and hard at her, his Mandalorian helmet giving nothing away.

Looking down on Qi'ra, he felt nothing for her, not even a desire for revenge – that had already been satisfied. He imagined in his mind making the trip to Dathomir, Crimson Dawn's base of operations and shooting her down face to face, but the thought left him feeling empty. Instead, another thought, another trip, another face took over in his mind.

"Payback doesn't pay," he said. "But if you ever cross me again, then I will cash in on the Corellian bounty for your head - no matter how little its worth." With a press of a button on the communicator, Qi'ra's image disappeared.

He couldn't deny it, the thrill had grown stale much quicker than he had anticipated. The job was done, he had been paid and above all else, Boba Fett was now the name of the downfall of Crimson Dawn – so why did he feel this way? Staring out into the lonely void of space, it dawned on him. He wasn't done yet.


	27. Chapter 27 - Dawn

Chapter 27

Dawn

The glow of Concord Dawn's sun peeked shyly over the hills of its vast grassy plains. The waning chill of the brand new morning bristled Sintas Vel's bare arms. It had been quite some time since she had last seen a sunrise, now being back home, she was determined to experience it – to feel it. She felt she deserved it. She had forgotten how much she actually missed her little homestead out in the middle of nowhere in the plains.

As much as she loved the thrill of life in space, and the hunt, she also held a reverent appreciation for the quiet of her home. The peace and satisfaction wouldn't last. As quickly as her credits would run low, she would get the urge to work again. Even now the prospect sparked a little excitement.

After this last job, however, she was willing to allow herself this little respite. She wasn't sure if she had succeeded. No pay usually meant the job failed – but did she? This last job had demanded much from her, more than she previously had expected to give. She never would have anticipated that along with her skill and talents, she would also have to give her heart as well.

The grass ahead rustled. There was no breeze. Sin opened her eyes to find him standing steps away from her porch.

"Bo," she said staring into the T visor. Why did he have to be wearing that helmet?

"You tipped off Hos," his tone was flat. She could feel his eyes staring back into hers. She wasn't checking for weapons - all survival instincts were far from her mind at that very moment. All she could do was wait and wonder. "You told him about the raid."

"It was my job," she said.

Boba remained completely still. She sensed hesitation. "Was it _all _the job?"

Sin felt her heart beat in her chest as she felt a connection between one another's thoughts. They were both thinking the same way, yet neither of them were quite sure where to go from there.

"No," she finally said. Boba's shoulders sunk slightly as if tension had been sapped from them. "So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

Boba slowly removed his helmet, letting his long dark curls fall free. His face was bruised and swollen with bandages wrapped around cuts. She had seen him this beat up before, but this time, it stirred something in her.

"I was thinking of taking a break for a bit," he said with swollen lips. She stepped down off her porch and approached him, gently reaching out and touching his face. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then puzzled, she looked around.

"Where's your ship?"

"Landed it a way's back. Decided to come quietly. I thought otherwise, you might shoot me," he smirked. She grinned as she looked back into his brown eyes. Behind him, the sun breached over the hills into the orange sky. Her sunrise had finally come.


End file.
